Broken Silence
by WriterK83
Summary: ADDED CHAPTER 11...Upon returning from Somalia, Team Gibbs has finally returned to normal. But as they chase a serial killer and Ziva and Tony have a close call, the team slowly starts to unravel. Mostly Ziva and Tony centered.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi all, this is my first attempt at writing fan fic! It takes place shortly after the Ziva rescue, and depicts not only how Ziva deals with what happened in Somalia, but also how it affects the rest of the team. Please note that I take some liberties with how it actually went down on the show :) And, of course, for all of these chapters: I do not own any of these characters or NCIS! **

**Anyway, let me know what you think. I'm open to positive reviews and will continue writing if you all are reading...so please let me know if I should continue!**

**Chapter 1 - Haunted **

No one talked about that day. The kill shot. The 10 hour helicopter ride where the four of them silently sat, stunned. The moment they first stepped off the elevator to a deafening applause that was the first - and last - reminder that Team Gibbs had pulled off an impossibly dangerous mission to bring home one of their own.

Whereas her absence had been a continuous reminder of her captivity and torture, her presence was now a welcome reminder of the way things were. The same old Ziva David who exchanged flirtatious banter with Tony and stood up for McGee. The trained assassin who could take out a suspect with a single fist. The Ziva they all loved and knew was completely outraged to still be on desk duty; it was easy to forget, pretend like things were ok.

Of course, after the applause died down and before life returned to normalcy on the outside, there was the debrief with Vance. Where an understandably dazed Ziva, fresh off the helicopter, let the team do the talking. There were the refused hospital visits - "I am fine, Gibbs" - along with a few nights at his house to ward off any ill effects of three months of torture.

And then there was just...Team Gibbs. Cases piled up as high as the takeout pizza boxes. The team lovingly bickered, ducked head slaps, and closed one murder after another.

Sometimes though, they did let their minds wander. McGee thought about Ziva. She had regained most of the lost 30 pounds, but he thought about cooking her dinner. But their hours were so long and he was seeing a new girl, and Ziva was back to Ziva, right?

Tony, well, he sometimes daydreamed about how it would feel to slowly torture Saleem. He caught himself thinking about which fingers he would cut off first or whether he'd start with a limb.

And Gibbs. He simply shouldn't have left her there.

But none of them dared to bring up these thoughts. The team was back together again, and for the first time in a long time, their dynamic finally felt right.

Tucked into her new, small one bedroom, Ziva rolled over so that the bright green light pierced her eyes. 1:22 it read. Annoyed, she yanked the covers over her head and tried to shift into a more comfortable and sleep-inducing position.

Third night in a row that I've tossed and churned, she thought. 10 sheep jumped over fences in her head before Ziva gave up counting. It was hard to push out the thoughts that had started to fill her mind these past few days.

Michael. Just the thought of his name sent a crippling pain through her body. "Oh Michael," Ziva breathed, placing a hand lightly on the pillow next to hers, the place where Michael once slept. It seemed like a lifetime ago, she thought. So much had happened since then. Saleem and..."No," she muttered. "I won't go there."

She turned away from the lone pillow. She was back with the team - everyone seemed so happy - and tomorrow she was officially off desk duty. She knew she had to push away these thoughts of Michael and Saleem and the past - be the same old Ziva that Team Gibbs counted on, the trained Mossad liason who didn't let anything or anyone stand in her way.

Tony noticed what may have been a slight bounce in Ziva's step as they worked in the abandoned DC warehouse, and he grinned as he saw her smile and pat the gun at her side nearly every minute. "Watch out, ladies and gentlemen," Tony cried, walking past Ziva with his hands dramatically in the air, "Ziva David is back on the streets."

She simply smiled, last night's thoughts buried and locked away. "It feels good to be back, Tony."

He felt a little flutter in his chest. It felt _really_ good to have her back.

Relishing this banter between them, such a simple pleasure that only a month ago he though he'd never have again, Tony slowly circled the naked body of Petty Officer Lyons that Ziva was photographing.

Trying to get another smile out of her, Tony mustered his best Henry Hill impression. "They even shot Tommy in the face so his mother couldn't give him an open casket at his funeral."

Ziva shook her head and took another shot. "We have a crime to investigate, yes?"

"It's Goodfellas, Ziva! Goodfellas!"

"Well, this is not a good...'fella' we have here," she said, placing an emphasis on the 'fella' as she tested out the word. "And we do not have time for fooling around, Tony. Gibbs is counting on us to find the man responsible for three dead marines."

Ziva was referring to an unknown killer that had taken down two other marines over the past week. The fact that he was likely a man, left his victims naked with a bullet in the face and the chest, and used the same gun for each murder were about the only leads the team had.

"No, probie," he playfully corrected. "You don't have time for fooling around. Now snap that camera of yours - make sure you get a close up of his face!"

She gave a slight grimace as she leaned in to continue the shots. "I do suppose that this poor fella will not be having an open casket, with a bullet hole in his face."

Ziva paused her finger on the camera's trigger as she spoke, and caught Tony's gaze. For a moment, their eyes locked and spoke to one another, before Ziva smiled playfully and turned away.

The two worked in a comfortable silence for awhile. Ziva taking photographs and gathering evidence from the body awaiting Ducky's arrival, while Tony took notes and examined the the rest of the warehouse room.

Breaking the silence, Tony used a pen to hold up a pair of men's whitie tighties found behind some discarded boxes. "Think these could belong to Lyons?"

Before Ziva could answer, a loud crash came from upstairs. "Tony," Ziva hissed as she drew her gun. "I think our killer is still here."

Tony drew his own gun while Ziva continued, "I thought you checked upstairs?"

"I did."

Silently, the two of them crept through the warehouse, adjusting their eyes to the growing darkness as they made their way to the staircase. Ziva took the first step, Tony behind her, as they silently crept up the stairs, guns alert.

Ziva stopped in what was now near pitch blackness, cocking her head to listen for signs of human life.

Tony leaned into her ear. "Maybe it was just a cat that.." He was interrupted by a swift kick to his chest before falling backwards and down the staircase.

Ziva's body tensed into full fight mode as the assaulter turned on her. Ziva reacted. Pointed her gun. "STOP! NCIS."

His hand appeared out of the darkness and as it painfully knocked her wrist against the staircase banister, she heard her gun clatter down the stairs, after Tony.

Tony...she thought fearfully. He was completely silent. Her right arm delivered a punch headed straight for the assailant's nose - or at least, what she thought was his nose through the darkness - but his hand circled her wrist, stopping her with his force.

His other hand, curled into a fist, collided with her face, and she felt a knife pressed to her throat. The coldness of the metal blade against her hot skin felt earily soothing as she was dragged up the stairs, stunned by how quickly he had overpowered her. He deposited her in a chair in the center of the room, and as he tied her wrists behind her back, Ziva felt a familiar sensation of obedience and hopelessness overcome her.

Tied to this chair, in a small cement room, her mind brought her back to Somalia. One month ago she was positive that death was on her doorstep, and that fact was alright with her. As she had told Gibbs, she had death in her heart. Had lost the will to live.

Why, one month later when she was reunited with the team, when she was finally a real NCIS agent, did these feelings come back again? Flashbacks ran through her mind like a movie. She felt the weight of fists on her body, the burlap sack scratching her face when they did not want her to see, the soothing feel of cement against her hot, fevered skin.

Ziva shook her head sharply, willing the flashbacks to stop, stay locked away and forgotten. Instead, she concentrated on the man as he exchanged his knife for a gun, leaving the room to deal with Tony, Ziva was sure of it.

He is likely badly injured, Ziva thought. Tony hadn't made a sound since falling.

Shouts and gunshots exploded downstairs, and a cold sweat broke out on Ziva's forehead as all went silent. Hopelessness consumed her. She bowed her head as she heard footsteps come up the stairs and then someone enter the room. She knew that she would be next, but how long he would hold her for...Ziva didn't think she could bear another minute completely powerless in captivity.

Just get it over with she silently pleaded, before speaking. "Saleem, just end..."

"Ziva."

Her head snapped up to see Tony, standing before her, hunched over. Her body shuddered as a silent gasp escaped her. Blinking rapidly, breathing hard, it took her a few seconds to transition from Somalia to the DC warehouse.

"Are you ok, Tony?" she finally questioned, forcing her usual playful voice to come through for her.

"Nothing like a little fall to start off your morning," he chuckled, trying to make light of a situation Gibbs would undoutably not be to keen about. He winced as the movement pained his bruised ribs. "I was knocked out for awhile down there."

He untied Ziva's wrists. "Are you ok, Probie? It looks like you took a nasty hit to the nose."

"I am fine," said Ziva, as she swiped at the blood, stood up and walked over to bag the assailant's forgotten knife.

Tony looked at her strangely as she pulled an evidence bag from her pocket. There was a strained note to her voice. Something was not right with her.

"Ziva..." he started.

"We need to call Ducky," she interrupted, bagged knife in hand as she headed for the stairs. "Gibbs will want to know if this guy is responsible for our three dead marines."

**Next Time…**

_As Gibbs walked toward McGee and the crime scene, and Ziva headed toward their government issued car, Tony reached a hand to her arm, stopping her. At his touch, Ziva jumped and gave a little cry, and as her face turned toward his, he saw a flash of fear and then shame across her eyes. _

_"Ziva, why did you call me Saleem?"_

That's it for today…please let me know if you are interested in the next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2 Bruised

Thanks so much for your kind comments – I'm glad people are enjoying this story so I'll keep on writing! And, as a thank you, a special surprise – TWO chapters today!

Broken Silence, Chapter 2 - Bruised

_Previously...One month after Ziva's rescue, Team Gibbs is seemingly back to normal though each team member is silently dealing with their own regrets and guilt regarding Ziva. Tony and Ziva investigate a crime scene, where a third marine has been killed with the same MO as two previous murders. While investigating, they are overpowered and Ziva has severe flashbacks of her time in Somalia, leaving Tony to wonder whether she's really ok._

Gibbs paced the burning sidewalk outside of the abandoned warehouse, where just moments ago Tony and Ziva had been overpowered, tied up, and nearly killed.

"WHY didn't ya call for backup, DiNozo?" Barked Gibbs, furious that his agents had placed themselves in a situation they almost didn't come out of.

"Boss, for all we knew it could've been a cat. I was actually telling Ziva that right before I fell down a flight of stairs and..." He was interrupted by a slap on the back of his head.

"We have two crime scenes to work. Either of you need to get checked out?" He looked pointedly at each agent.

"I am fine," replied Ziva, who had wiped away the last of the nosebleed and was now sporting the beginnings of a harsh bruise across her nose and left eye.

"No x-rays?"

"Bruised, not broken."

"DiNozzo?" The boss turned to his other agent.

"It might not hurt to take the afternoon off for some RICE. You know boss, Rest, Ice, Compression..." Tony caught Gibb's glare. "But I'm fine. Ready to go."

"Good. Take the evidence back to Abby. Find out everything you can. Vance'll be breathin' down my neck 'till we know whether he's our guy."

As Gibbs walked toward McGee and the crime scene, Ziva headed in the opposite direction toward their government issued car. Tony jogged a bit to catch up; he needed to talk to her. He placed a hand on her arm.

"Hey, Ziva."

She flipped, into pure survival mode. Twisting his arm, she had him in a headlock in mere seconds, before realizing that it was just….Tony.

She released him. Stunned, Tony backed away a step, rubbing his neck where her arms had been. He saw a flash of fear and then shame across her eyes, but she held his gaze, daring him to question her.

So he did. He took a step closer, so close that she could hear his whisper, their faces inches apart.

"Ziva, why did you call me Saleem?"

She gave him a hard look before turning on her heel. "I do not know what you are talking about."

_Later that afternoon…_

Gibbs strode into the office, tailed closely by McGee. They had just finished processing the two crime scenes at the warehouse.

"What've ya got?" he asked.

Tony jumped out of his seat, flicking images onto the large screen. "Rob Bayliss. 35, an electrician. His gun matches the bullets we found in Petty Officer Lyons at the first crime scene at the warehouse – both the shot in the face and in the chest. Abby is in the process of matching the bullets to the other two dead marines."

"Connection between Bayliss and Lyons?" Questioned Gibbs.

Ziva, still sitting at her desk, was staring at the screen but didn't appear to be listening.

"Ziva, want to help me out here?" Tony prompted.

The three men turned toward her. She continued to stare through the screen, clearly oblivious to the dialogue around her.

"Ziva!" Tony said again, a bit louder this time.

She startled for a moment, and then shook her head, clearing the fog and the daze. "We've gone through bank records, phone logs, travel. There is no apparent connection between Petty Officer Lyons and Bayliss."

"Find one."

"You know, boss," Tony started, as Gibbs took two long strides to his desk. "I'm pretty sure this guy is the marine killer. I think you can tell Vance..."

"We don't have enough evidence, Tony. For all we know he was in the wrong place at the wrong time," countered McGee.

"Shut it," replied Tony, before turning back to the boss. "C'mon. Why else would he be hanging out in a deserted warehouse with a dead body, holding the gun that shot the guy?"

"That's what you're gonna find out," inserted Gibbs, as he flipped through files on his desk and began checking voicemail.

"That would be nice, to see Tony do something for once," McGee pleasantly said.

Tony turned toward him, glaring. "I'm sorry, I was too busy solving the case to hear you. What did you say, you finally lost your virginity last night?"

"Hey, well at least I don't go around jumping to conclusions and unnecessarily shooting people in the process."

A wave of anger crossed Tony's face as he dashed across the bullpen toward McGee. "He was about to kill me, ok. Or would you rather I have died instead of Rivkin?"

McGee rose to meet Tony's eye level. "Well, she probably wouldn't have left if..."

"ENOUGH," yelled Gibbs as he crossed the room to stand between Tony and McGee. Tony glanced over at Ziva. Her eyes were darting back and forth between the men as if she was unsure whether to cower in the corner or prepare to fight. He looked at McGee, who was still shooting him daggers, and it began to dawn on Tony. Why McGee had been moodier lately; why McGee was so cold to Tony following Rivkin's death. McGee blames me for everything that happened to Ziva. Join the club pal, he thought.

"Back to work," barked Gibbs, putting a clear end to further discussion as his phone rang. He listened for a minute before hanging up and addressing the team. "Tony, I wouldn't be so sure about your hypothesis. We've got another dead marine. Naked. Shot to the face and the chest just minutes ago. Grab your gear."


	3. Chapter 3 Crumble

Broken Silence, Chapter 3 – Crumble

_Two weeks later...The team, still investigating the marine killer, is unraveling as quickly as the body count grows._

Tony sat at his desk, drumming a pencil to the beat of Springsteen's 'Born to Run.' He was supposed to be looking for a connection between all six dead marines, in hopes it would give them some kind of clue as to the marine killer's identity. Right now they had nothing, though Abby was working on new evidence gained from a raid of Bayliss' safe house yesterday.

Washington was breathing down Gibbs neck, which meant that the team was working days and nights, weekends too.

Frankly, Tony couldn't find anything and he was frustrated. He hoped Ziva was having better luck on a new angle she was taking with their warehouse assailant, Bayliss, whom they now believed to be an accomplice of the still living marine killer. He watched her from across his desk, drumming his pencil louder and with more enthusiasm as he got to the chorus.

He wanted to ask her what she had found, but something had changed since the warehouse incident two weeks ago. He wasn't sure if it was what happened at the warehouse, or just the pressure of the case, but Team Gibbs seemed to be crumbing.

Ziva was showing up to work with dark circles and bags under her eyes. Gibbs had even less tolerance for their lack of leads on the case, giving out more head slaps and glares than normal. McGee clearly blamed Tony for everything that happened to Ziva - if he hadn't have broken protocol, hadn't gone to her apartment, if he hadn't, hadn't, hadn't...

And Tony. He couldn't stop thinking about Rivkin. Saleem. About Ziva's time in Somalia. Maybe it was wrong that the moment they hit U.S. soil it was as if Somalia, Tel Aviv, and everything in between never happened. But they were, after all, trained agents. Trained to keep their feelings in check and to deal with and process situations of extreme stress.

They were once Team Gibbs. They could do anything. But now? Three weeks spent searching for the marine killer and no solid leads...

Tony looked around the room once more, at his teammates. They'd get there. They had to...right?

"So Z, you on a diet?" said Tony, finally breaking the silence.

"What?" Ziva questioned, annoyed as she looked up from her files.

"You're looking kind of scrawny." Sickly, is a better adjective, he thought.

"For your information, Tony, you are not the only one who has been working day and night on this case."

"Good, let's order pizza."

"I'm in," piped up McGee as he stood from his desk and stretched. "I just finished running the special algorithm on Bayliss' files and found something pretty interesting when I.."

"McGeeeeeee," groaned Tony. "Can we save the geek speak for after I get a few slices in my stomach?"

"I'm sorry, Tony, is my productivity interrupting your afternoon nap?"

"Spill it, McGee," Gibbs said as he returned to the bullpen after three tense hours in MTAC.

McGee glared at Tony. "As I was saying, I found something unusual on Bayliss' computer. A bunch of encrypted files. One is a list of names – codenames of some sort, actually – and six are crossed out. I think it may be his hit list."

"Print it. Now. Copy in MTAC in five."

"Right away, sir." McGee was already hitting the print button.

...

60 minutes and two pizzas later, Gibbs returned from MTAC, surprised to see his team quietly working for a change.

He stopped at Ziva's desk, eyeing her untouched food. "Pizza cold?"

She jumped, startled by his voice.

He leaned down, two hands on her desk, so that they were eye level. "Ziva?" He questioned.

"Gibbs...I...the angle I'm working on...Bayliss' accomplice..."

He gently stopped her stammering. "Ziva, I was just askin. Are you not hungry?"

"Oh." She shrugged, pushing the plate toward him, as if to offer.

"Ziva, McGee, go downstairs and see what else Abby has from Bayliss' house," ordered Gibbs.

Once Ziva and McGee were out of earshot, Gibbs picked up Ziva's untouched pizza, leaning against her desk as he slowly chewed. "Tony..." He started, but stopped, looking down at Ziva's desk.

"Yea boss, I notice it too."

Gibbs looked at Tony. He had been so thankful that the team had naturally slipped back into their usual routine, following the rescue. He was constantly fearful that he was leading the team wrong, that there was something he was missing. But when Ziva came back, everything clicked again, and Gibbs had renewed faith in his leadership. But now…

"I know the department psych cleared her, but do you think we need to address..." Tony was cut off by Gibb's ringing phone.

"McGee," said Gibbs as he hung up. "Abby's got something."

As Gibbs walked away, Tony watched his boss with disgust. He felt the same way he did toward Gibbs when they left Ziva in Tel Aviv. Why did he leave her? Why did he never, not even once, tell Tony he was right in killing Rivkin? Tony threw his pencil across the room with such force that it snapped in half as it hit Gibb's computer.

"You may not give a damn about her," Tony muttered. "But I'm not going to leave her; sit by and watch her continue to crumble."

_Next Time…_

_"I am fine, Tony."_

_He bowed his head for a moment, sadly, at those three little words she had been repeating from the moment they left Somalia. _

_"What did he do to you, Ziva?"_

Have a great day, all! Keep the comments coming and I'll get the next chapter up ASAP!


	4. Chapter 4 Splintered

Broken Silence, Chapter 4 – Splintered

_Previously...The breakdown of the team becomes clear. Tony is questioning whether he should have pulled the trigger on Rivkin, and is in desperate need for Gibbs to validate these actions. McGee blames Tony - the fact that he didn't follow protocol on the night of Rivkin's death - for Ziva's torture. And Ziva is starting to suffer from PTSD, triggered by the warehouse attack which causes flashbacks of Somalia. Team Gibbs, in the midst of trying to find Bayliss' accomplice and stop further marines from dying, is falling apart._

Ziva sat, silently, on her couch. Wrapped in sweats and a blanket, she shivered as she stared blankly. Today, Abby had found an extra set of prints in Bayliss' house. While the prints didn't match anything in the database, it was the closest they had come to getting a lead on Bayliss' accomplice.

She thought about the mind of a killer. She had certainly killed her fair share of men. As an assassin working under her father, and as an investigator sworn to protect and serve her country, under Gibbs. What separated her from the likes of Bayliss and his accomplice? What separated her from…Saleem?

How many of her actions were indefensible, unforgivable? How many of the innocent had suffered at her hands? The events in Somalia, were they something she had coming to her? Karma, simply part of the game.

When you let your feelings overcome you, her father always told her, you lose. There is no love, no time for regrets, no time for sorrow or misery in war.

You eliminate, move on, take punches and stand taller.

McGee had killed men, Gibbs perhaps a few too many, and Tony...Tony had killed Michael.

"No." Ziva pushed away from the couch and stood up. Fighting away these feelings she had learned to never have; her training failing her…it was all too much, and her head felt hot. She had to sink back down on the couch as blackness, coming from the back of her eyes, engulfed her vision.

"I should eat." A practical solution. She stood up, her vision clearing, her head less heavy, and made her way to the refrigerator. Bare, except for a hummus container sprouting what looked to be mold. With no energy to run to the store or wait up for delivery, Ziva made her way to her bedroom, flicking out the lights and burrowing under the covers.

She lay in bed for two hours, listening to the sound of her shallow breathing. She felt so light, could feel fat and muscle melting away from the bone. This is how it was in Somalia. Despite the physical pain and the expected execution, she often wondered whether she'd die of starvation before Saleem could finish her.

Ziva finally drifted off, to dreams of a single bullet that took Michael's life, to Saleem blowing up the entire Team Gibbs while Ziva, bound and gagged, helplessly watched. The scenes replayed over and over, the bomb beeping, beeping, beeping...

Ziva jolted out of her sleep, confused until she realized that the beeping was not a bomb, but in fact her cell phone.

"Hello?"

It was Tony. How many hours had passed? "Good morning, David. Your place, 20 minutes. Gibbs wants us to comb through Bayliss' safe house again to look for signs of his accomplice."

"Fine.' She hung up. It took effort to get out of bed, showered and dress. She was irritated - the dreams, Tony's chipper voice, the weakness she felt.

...

Tony watched from his car as Ziva exited her apartment. He watched as she leaned heavily on the banister for support - way too much for his liking - as she came down the cement building stairs. If it was possible, she looked thinner and more wary than yesterday, he thought, as she slid into the seat beside him.

"Morning sunshine," he greeted, pulling away from the curb.

Ziva was curt. "Hello, Tony."

"You know, most people find that when they wear a sweatshirt and its 80 degrees out, they get hot."

"I am cold, Tony."

Taking cues from her downright concerning state, Tony quickly changed the subject with a little planned lie. "I didn't eat, mind if we stop at Buddie's?"

"That is fine."

They drove in silence for awhile, Tony humming along to the radio. As they pulled into the parking lot he asked, "Bagel or breakfast burrito?"

"Bagel," she replied without thinking.

"Cream cheese or butter?"

She paused for a moment before meeting his gaze for the first time that morning. "Plain? My stomach is rather...upset." She finished, after finding the right word.

He nodded, "Back in five." Entering Buddie's, Tony smiled to himself. It felt good to finally take care of her. He felt encouraged that she had agreed to eat. So much so that he had hopes he could fix whatever it was that was wrong. If Ziva was fixed, if Somalia was dealt with, McGee would finally stop PMS'ing, they'd be able to properly concentrate on solving the case, and the pressure would be off Gibbs and he'd go back to the same old boss man.

Tony returned to the car, handing Ziva a bag of bagels and a large container of orange juice, pleased with himself for another way to get calories into her.

"Thank you, Tony."

As he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other feeding himself large bites of his breakfast burrito with the works, Tony watched her out of the corner of his eye. She pulled small pieces from her bagel before putting them into her mouth, and took little sips of orange juice.

….

Ziva stole a glance at Tony as he drove, trying to understand the confusion that filled her when she thought about him. Did she hate him for killing Michael, for reminding her that she was not all right? Or did she owe him for rescuing her? Was she just grateful to have a partner with whom unspoken words could be exchanged through an offer of breakfast or a single glance?

By the time the exited the Beltway and into Maryland, she had finished her bagel and juice. Her head was leaned against the seat, eyes closed.

"Hey Z," Tony said, tapping her on the shoulder. "We're here."

"Oh," she shook her head briefly, her eyes popped open. "It took you long enough."

The innocent jab placed smiles on both faces as they exited the car, guns drawn, circling the perimeter to make sure their killer hadn't returned. The house was a good one for hiding from the law, Ziva though, a small two story log cabin, nestled into the woods.

Once they had ducked under the yellow crime scene tape and conducted a brief search of the house, the two worked in silence, going over every inch of the place for clues that could point to Bayliss' accomplice.

After about 30 minutes of checking the floorboards for secret hiding places, Ziva frowned, glancing around the room. "Tony, she started, as she walked over to the kitchen counter, visible from the large living room. "That wine bottle. It was not here yesterday, was it?"

Tony looked up from where he was looking through the bookcase. "No, no it wasn't. Bag it."

The two looked at each other. "Someone has been here," Ziva said slowly.

"Whoever it is, they're not here now."

"True," she agreed, bagging the full bottle of merlot and going back to the floor, picking at a loose floorboard for a few minutes. "But Tony," she finally continued, "That is the only thing that has changed. If someone had been here, would we not notice something else? A stray hair, food?"

Tony looked at Ziva, crouched on the floor, right arm draped over her knee. "Sooo, maybe he came home, nice bottle of wine for a relaxing evening, saw that the place had been clearly invaded by cops, and hightailed it out of here." He went back to examining the bookcase.

"But why would he leave the wine? Wouldn't he have taken it with him, instead of wasting time wiping prints?"

"Maybe he forgot?" Offered Tony, his eyes still trained on the books, checking for hollows or hidden notes.

Ziva shook her head. "He is too smart for that, Tony."

Tony stopped, half joking as he spoke. "Boy, I hope I didn't miss him hiding in here. Boss will kill me if I do that again."

Ziva stood up quickly, unsettled by Tony's joke. Immediately, she was hit by the burning blackness that caused her to sway on her feet. She reached out quickly, grabbing the back of the couch as she fell forward.

"Ziva!" Tony rushed to her side, grabbing her arms to help her stand.

'I just...I just...need a minute," she stammered, trying to shake Tony off of her.

He refused to budge, and instead, led her to the couch. "Sit." He ordered.

To Tony's surprise, she complied. He placed a hand on her knee, which she also did not refuse.

"You have got to start taking care..."

"I am fine, Tony."

He bowed his head for a moment, sadly, at those three little words she had been repeating from the moment they left Somalia.

"What did he do to you, Ziva?"

A flash of surprise crossed her face. She turned to face him, her head slightly cocked to the outside.

"Was it Bayliss? What happened in the warehouse?"

"You and I have been in plenty of….. 'difficult' situations before."

"So, Saleem?"

Ziva sighed. Tony was relentless. "We can't change the past, Tony. I have accepted what happened and have moved on." He started to speak, frightened by the cold tone in her voice, but she interrupted him, a bit softer and more convincing this time. "It has been difficult, yes, especially recently. But…you have got to…. trust me…for once."

The words stung Tony. Is it time, he thought? Are we going to hash out Rivken? The weight of his death had hung like a thick wall between the team, most of all Tony and Ziva. And now, it seemed to be splintering from the center, peeling off thick, sharp splinters that jabbed at their raw insides.

Tony retreated. As much as he wanted to lay it all out, he was frankly terrified that the discussion would leave their relationship irreparable, closing the door for good.

So he addressed the surface. Tightened his hand on her knee.

"I can't stand to see you not eating and sleeping. I'm half afraid that if I touch you I'll break something, you're so small."

She was looking at him, and her eyes spoke. Despite the pain and the damage, he saw a glimpse of something that told him Ziva still lived.

"I can't...I can't handle what you went through. The way it makes me feel." He clenched his teeth. "What it makes me want to do to Saleem if he weren't already dead."

She placed her hand over his, still resting on her knee. For the first time, Ziva began to absorb how the events in Somalia affected others besides her. Her voice was low. Husky. "I know, Tony. I know."

She stared at their clasped hands for a moment, wondering why Tony was being so nice, so caring to her. She had yet to apologize for pulling a gun on him in Tel Aviv, had yet to talk to him about…Michael.

Tony put a hand to her face, shifting her so that their eyes met, lips within inches of one another. "Were you raped?"

And the wall went back up, leaving shards of splinters in its wake.

How quickly her eyes moved from his was the only answer he needed. Another little piece of him broke inside as Ziva pulled from his grasp. "Let's finish and go," she said.

…..

_Next Time…_

_She shivered and blinked heavily, looking at the two men. The sunken cheek bones, the dead eyes, the slumped shoulders. The defeat. Tony, for a brief second, was almost taken back to Somalia himself. _

_And then she couldn't breathe. _

...

Hey all, hope you liked today's chapter! Lot's of Tony and Ziva today :) I'm already planning out the next few chapters - lots of good stuff - Tiva moments, hurt/comfort and more coming your way! I'm super busy at work though and going out of town for a few days, so PLEASE reply and I will keep posting reguarly. It's knowing how much you all enjoy this that gives me motivation to write every day :)


	5. Chapter 5 Revisited

Hi guys, I'm really nervous about posting this today. I haven't had a ton of time to work on it, and am not super proud of or excited about the way I wrote this one. I debated not posting it and spending another day or two, but so many of you replied and added me I didn't want to let you down. I hope this is ok – please let me know what you think. And, if you don't like it, I think I'd rather have you not reply – thanks!

Also, note that I took a few liberties with how the stuff around Rivken really played out.

Broken Silence, Chapter 5 – Revisited

_Previously...While giving Bayliss' old hideout another look, Tony confronts Ziva about her changed behavior since the warehouse attack. It's clear that Ziva is losing a significant amount of weight, is physically weak, and out of it most of the time. At first, she pulls her usual defenses, but after seeing how Tony, too is hurt by these past few months, she softens, momentarily. _

Ziva is grateful to ride with McGee today. Though they sit in silence, it is a welcome break from Tony. His questions. The pain he wears on his face that Ziva understands she has caused. Her guilt that Michael's blood is on Tony's hands. His knowledge of what really happened to her in Somalia.

After leaving Bayliss' safe house the previous day, both tried overly hard to return their dynamic to normal. Tony, reverting to antics that usually made her laugh, stumbled backwards and cursed himself after making a sex joke that he thought probably not appropriate anymore.

Ziva, on the other hand, found it too hard to flirt back with witty comments while concentrating on…being. Not flashing back, not passing out. Keeping the blackness and dark demons out of her head.

And so today, she just concentrates on being, as she and McGee tail Gibbs and Tony. They head back to the very same warehouse where Ziva and Tony were attacked. The naked body of a seventh marine, shot in the face and the chest, had been found there, and with nothing pointing to the identity of their marine killer, the team is desperately hoping to gain a lead.

…

Tony and Gibbs drive in silence, too. Tony looks at his boss, effortlessly weaving the car in and out of traffic, running red lights when desired.

He has so much he wants to ask. Say. Yell. And even though he, quite frankly, doesn't know where to start, he sees his window of opportunity narrow as the warehouse appears in sight.

"About the other day….Ziva."

"We're gonna have her go back to the department shrink."

"Oh." Tony sat back, surprised that Gibbs had been making arrangements when he so clearly dismissed their conversation earlier that week. Just like Gibbs though, he thought, to be so stoic, silent. So he challenged his boss' plan. "And if she says no?"

Gibbs looked over at his senior agent, confessing, "I don't know, Tony." He waited a beat. "Have ya talked to her?"

"Well, yea boss, we talk everyday at the office…"

"DiNozo."

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Not really. She's said a little about her time over there, and I've pieced some together."

"I'm talkin 'bout Rivken."

Tony felt his heart skip a beat. "None of us really talked about Rivken. We investigated, sure, but we never really talked about that night," Tony's eyes grew wide as he felt himself start to ramble. "….though McGee certainly seems to enjoy lecturing me about my bad judgment, and the rest of…"

"Tony," Gibbs started, as he pulled into the parking lot and turned to his agent in disbelief, finally starting to understand the resentment, anger and hurt he saw repeatedly in Tony's eyes. "Is that what this is about? Are you doubting your actions that night?"

Tony hesitated, before shrugging his shoulders and trying to sound nonchalant. "Look at what it's caused. I mean, McGee's PMS'ing so bad I'm about to buy him tampons. And Ziva…I mean, I can't help but think that if I hadn't…"

Gibbs placed a hand on Tony's shoulder, looking him square in the eye. "You had no choice, Tony. You may not have played by the book that night, but you were looking out for your team." Gibbs was firm, as he continued. "And up there, in that apartment, you had no choice."

Tony's heart pounded.

"Staying in Tel Aviv, going to Somalia, that was her choice." _Her choice. _Sometimes, Gibbs thought that if he said these words often enough, he would start to believe them.

Removing his hand from Tony's shoulder, Gibbs watched Ziva and McGee enter the warehouse. He spoke, thoughtfully, still looking straight ahead through the windshield.

"We all have choices, Tony. And unfortunately, no matter what we choose, even if we think we're doing the right thing, there are usually consequences."

Tony nodded, processing his boss' words as he watched the man exit the car.

He still might regret his actions that night, but maybe Gibbs was onto something. Maybe everything wasn't entirely his fault – wasn't even mostly his fault. And Gibbs…the boss he knew and loved and worshipped had finally justified what had tortured Tony for months.

"Hey boss," Tony yelled, jumping out of the car and jogging a little to catch up. "Wait for me."

….

Ziva stopped walking the perimeter of the room, tired of searching for a stray bullet that was nowhere to be found. Instead, she examined her team. McGee's concentration and the repeated camera flashes as he snapped every angle of the dead and naked marine. The lightness she saw in Tony that hadn't been there yesterday. What was he so happy about? Maybe he got some, she thought dryly.

And so she stole away into the large warehouse, tracing an imaginary line against the wall with her fingertip as she walked. She stopped at the foot of the shadow-filled stairs, looking up. This is where it happened, she thought. I was overpowered, bound, almost killed. For the second time.

She began to climb, slowly, one step at a time, watching the scene unfold before her. She saw Tony fall down the stairs. She saw her blocked punch, her gun falling, the knife at her throat. And then she was in the room, just as it was before. The chair, still in the middle. She walked the perimeter slowly. She watched as the man picked up his gun and went after Tony. She watched as Saleem hit her and tore at her clothes.

She found herself in the corner, pressed against the wall. Her heart, racing so fast she thought it would explode, and sweat, pouring down her face, her back, her chest. Her breath came quickly, it felt hard to get air.

She left the warehouse. She heard and felt and saw nothing but…Somalia.

Downstairs, Tony looked up from the fingerprints he was pulling. "Hey, where's Ziva?"

And that's when they heard the scream. And ran.

The three men stopped, for just a moment, when they reached the doorway at the top of the stairs. Ziva sat in a corner, drenched in sweat and breathing as if she had just taken down a suspect, staring miles ahead. She repeated the same three words, over and over and over. _I will not tell. _

Gibbs and Tony were at her side in an instant, but at the first touch on her arm she swung out. Tony let the weakened blow come.

"Ziva," Gibbs whispered, softly into her ear. "It's ok. Ziva."

Tony looked at his boss, unsure of what to do; afraid to touch her. Gibbs nodded at him.

So he spoke. "Ziva, it's me, Tony. You're safe, it's ok."

She shivered and blinked heavily, looking at the two men. The sunken cheek bones, the dead eyes, the slumped shoulders. The defeat. Tony, for a brief second, was almost taken back to Somalia himself.

And then she couldn't breathe.

McGee stood several steps back, watching Gibbs and DiNozo place gentle hands on Ziva and whisper words of comfort into her ear. He felt anger build up. At himself, for not reaching out more to Ziva after her return. At Tony, for breaking protocol. The same plea drifted through McGee's head, as it had a thousand times before. _Why didn't you let me in, Tony? I could have helped you with Rivkin._

He looked back at Ziva, not sure whether it was a good or bad sign that he hadn't once, not even today, seen her shed a single tear.

Her breaths were coming in large, panicked gasps. Her eyes were wild, her hands pushing the men away. The walls, the hands, everything was closing in on her. She felt the burlap sack - the one she spent days wearing over her head in Somalia - scratch at her face. For a moment she couldn't see.

And then two hands cupped her head, and she was surprised at how gentle the touch. She found herself looking directly into familiar eyes.

_Everyone has betrayed me. Mossad, Ari, Rivkin, Tony. Who's next. You?_

And then she was back. Her breath slowed. She pulled her head out of Gibbs' grasp.

"Have we identified victim number seven?" She asked, as calmly as if nothing had happened.

"Ziva," Tony rushed, still crouched by her side. _Please do not pretend like this, too, did not happen, _he silently pleaded to himself.

She pushed away from him, using the wall to propel herself to her feet. Heat rushed her cheeks as she felt the three men staring at her. Each sadly wondering when her strength, her resolve, would finally give in to the flashbacks and trauma that she seemed to relive more and more frequently.

"I need to go finish..." She trailed off, eyes averted, stumbling past McGee until she got to the doorway. Blackness threatened her vision, voices muffled behind her.

She felt hands grabbing her arms, guiding her down the stairs. Suddenly, she felt too weak and tired to protest. She could hear voices, see faces, but she could not process. She found herself in the back of a car, Gibbs telling Tony to sit with her, he'd be there in five.

A granola bar was pressed into her hands, already opened. A voice told her to eat. And she did.

…..

"It needs to be now, Leon ….I don't know if the hospital's the best thing for her. Can you set it up or not?"

Eyes trained on the car, Gibbs raised his chin slightly when he heard the words he wanted. "She'll be there in 15."

….

Ziva held the empty granola bar wrapper in her hands, playing with the edges, tearing them. A bit of color had returned to her cheeks, and she seemed alert again, focused.

As Gibbs slid into the driver's seat, she felt both men looking at her. Tony on her left. Gibbs, her diagonal. She spoke first, her words designed to control the conversation.

"I am...confused." She started. "How many times have we been in danger? Almost killed? It has not affected me, before."

Tony's voice was soft. "This is different, Z. Three months. They took….," His pulse quickened as he heard his words go down dangerous territory. "…they hurt you. A lot."

"I can handle the physical pain," she argued. "That has come and gone." She said this simply, as if pain inflicted by another could really rise and fall with the ease of a single breath.

Gibbs reached into the backseat, tapping her hand. "It's what's going on inside that you have to deal with."

She looked up at him as he went where she didn't want to go. "Don't bury it, Ziva."

She gave a dry laugh. "I am a trained assassin. We do not succumb to weakness such as this." She paused for a moment. "We do _not_ get captured."

"You can't beat yourself up Z," started Tony, as she turned to him.

"For me to admit I am having...difficulties...what does that make me?

"Human," replied Gibbs.

She rephrased herself. "_Who _does that make me?" She gave a snort. "No longer Mossad."

At their silence she turned away. How could they understand? From a young age it had been drilled into her to never give into feelings, and this same training, she had applied upon return from Somalia. But after Bayliss, something changed inside Ziva that she didn't understand. For once, she couldn't control what was happening inside her.

"Ziva, an officer's waiting to drive you to the department psychiatrist. Appointment's in 15 minutes. And then I want ya to go home." _You have to start dealing with this. Please. _

She saw an officer standing by a squad car. He was young, nervous looking, and made her smile. How wonderful innocence must be. To have no blood on your hands, no weight in your heart.

She turned to Gibbs with a brief nod, before exiting the car. And just like that, she was gone.

Tony ached watching her. It didn't feel right to let her go after what had happened, without someone holding her and whispering reassurances in her ear. But she was Ziva, after all. It took a lot to cause Ziva to lean on someone.

Tony remembered her screams upstairs, her weakened fight. He wondered if that's what Saleem had seen. He wondered if Saleem laughed, took pleasure in seeing how weakened she had become. He wondered if it made Saleem hurt her more, harder.

And Tony thought he might throw up. But instead, he stepped out of the vehicle with Gibbs, watching Ziva drive away with the young officer. "She's going to be ok, right, boss?"

Gibbs turned to him, placing a hand once more on his shoulder. "She's got to learn who she is without Mossad. And that'll involve dealing with Somalia, without locking her feelings away like she's always been trained to do."

Tony nodded, a calm blanket of understanding finally falling between he and his boss.

Gibbs squeezed his shoulder.

…

From the front seat of the car, the young agent nervously drove. He had heard stories about Officer David and her Mossad training. Had heard that she could kill a man with one blow. Naturally, he was nervous as he spoke.

"Officer David, we, uh, we should be there in 5 minutes."

She opened her eyes, an eerily calm smile on her face. "Actually, I have to stop at my apartment first. If you can drop me there, I'll grab my car and drive back to base."

He hesitated. He was under strict orders from Gibbs to take her directly back to NCIS, and no where in between.

"Don't worry," she said lightly, trying to force the playful tone that came in handy with Tony. "I'll put a good word for you in with Vance."

"If you're sure it's ok?"

"Trust me," She reassured the young agent. "I know exactly what I am doing."

….

Next Time…

And unfortunately, there is no preview because I haven't written anything yet. So here's a question – would you all rather have a shorter chapter, less than 1000 words, that continues on what just happened. Though short, it would definitely have something interesting in it, whether it has to do with the case or with the character dynamic. Or, would you rather wait an extra day or two for something longer that covers a lot of ground (like the chapters I have been posting)?

The reason that I ask this question is that I'm going out of town for work tomorrow morning, back Saturday at midnight, so I probably can't do another longer chapter till Sunday.

Let me know!


	6. Chapter 6 Second Chances

Broken Silence, Chapter 6

_Previously..While investigating another murder in the warehouse where attacked, Ziva has an intense flashback of Somalia. The team is there to calm her down, and she later talks with Tony and Gibbs, telling them that she is confused as to why she is feeling this way. She admits that without her tough exterior, and because she allowed herself to get captured twice, she doesn't know who she is anymore._

The bullpen is comfortingly silent, peaceful for once. But McGee can't shake the eerie feeling that's settled over him. Just a few hours earlier a girl he didn't know was huddled on the floor, terrified, slowly slipping away from them.

He glanced at his watch, eyed the three empty desks around him. Tony and Gibbs were at the seventh victim's house, looking for clues and signs of evidence. And Ziva was….downstairs with the shrink. The officer had dropped her off nearly two hours ago, and McGee had yet to see a sign of her. It made him nervous, and he wondered what they were talking about.

He tapped his pen slowly, the files for victims number one, two and three on his desk. Now that several weeks had passed, and several bodies had been added to the count, he was revisiting the original victims to see if any clues or links could be found.

As he worked, Dr. Nicholas came down the stairs. "McGee," she started. He gulped at the sound of her voice, remembering their three dates that had ended with some drunken sex – very drunken sex, actually, McGee couldn't even remember if it was good or not – and a mutual decision to part ways. "Uh, hey, Jenny. How's it going?"

"I'm looking for Ziva, she missed our appointment."

"She what?"

"We had an appointment. She didn't show. She missed it."

McGee's chest started to pound. Where was Ziva? Was she ok? "I'm sure she just got tied up, maybe with the case or something and she'll…"

"McGee, you don't seem to understand. Ziva's already on desk duty for the immediate future. And if she doesn't keep up her appointments with me, she'll be suspended."

"Jenny, I mean I know she's going through some stuff, but…"

"McGee, wake up. Do you understand what happened to her over there?"

His throat tightened. He lowered his head and solemnly replied. "Yea, I do."

"Until she learns strategies to cope with what happened, how she's feeling, she's not going to get any better." Jenny paused for a moment. "Do you know when Gibbs is coming back? I need to talk to him."

He protested. "Jenny, you didn't even see her. Cut her some slack…"

"McGee." Jenny was harsh this time. "She's a liability to this team right now."

He knew this much to be true. "But suspension…C'mon…what harm can desk duty do?"

Jenny shrugged her shoulders, as if to say, 'it's out of my hands.'

Out of the corner of his eye, McGee saw Vance come out of MTAC.

Standing up, he leaned close to Jenny. "Look, what if I go get her, bring her back? Will you wait for her – just 30 more minutes?"

She sighed, checked her watch. "30 minutes. That's all."

McGee beamed, started to lean in to kiss her cheek before pulling back with an awkward head nod. "Thanks, Jenny, I owe you one."

"Tim," she started as the agent grabbed his keys. "No promises. _If_ I think she's able to handle it, we'll put her on desk duty."

…

Tony set down the fingerprint powder as he heard his phone beep, signaling a new text message.

_Ziva no show appt. Gttg her now or shell b suspended. Dnt tell gibbs. _

Tony cursed as he closed his phone.

"Problem, DiNozzo."

"Oh, no boss!" Tony laughed as he pointed at his cell phone. "That was my, uh, dry cleaners. They couldn't get a stain out. Favorite shirt. You know."

Gibbs eyed Tony.

"Right. So, I'm going to go into the kitchen and talk to the wife," offered Tony, making his way across the room.

He took in the now widowed woman, sitting at the dark mahogany breakfast table. Petite, blond hair, green eyes. In shape. _I would probably be hitting on her right now, if her husband hadn't of just died and if I wasn't…._

Whoa. He stopped himself. _Do not go there, DiNozzo_.

"Are you up to answering a few questions?"

The woman shrugged. Her eyes were red and a box of tissues sat on the table.

Tony flipped open his notepad. "Can you think of anyone who'd want to hurt your husband?"

She shrugged again, shaking her head no.

"Ma'm, I'm going to need a verbal answer."

"No." She was curt in her reply. "But then again, I'm not sure if I really knew my husband at all, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony leaned a little closer. "Why is that?"

At this her eyes began to fill, and she tore a tissue from the box. "He cheated on me. Same woman, two years. Three times a week at the downtown Marriot. I found out just a few weeks ago." She blew her nose.

_Cheated…._Tony racked his brain. Something there struck a familiar chord, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

…

Ziva fought to keep her eyes open as she sifted through files for the first six victims. Phone records, evidence, crime scene photos.

_Ugh this is useless! No leads. No connections. _

She lowered her head in her hands, running her fingers through her thick, dark hair. For just a moment she gave in, squeezing her eyes shut in hopes of getting rid of the twitch that commandeered her left one. If only she could find a lead. Show Team Gibbs that despite what happened at the warehouse, at Bayliss' safehouse, she is not weak.

As she looked at the next photograph, the doorbell rang, followed immediately by pounding fists.

"ZIVA," yelled…McGee? _What is he doing here?_

"ZIVA, LET ME IN." She closed her eyes, hoping that if he'd go away if she stayed silent. The door jiggled. She sighed. It was highly unlikely that McGee could pick her lock, but it was clear that he wasn't going away. "I'm coming, McGee."

The pounding continued. "Hold on!" She shouted, impatient, opening the door to find a frazzled McGee, mid-pound, trench coat on inside out.

She looked at him, her eyes and facial expression screaming, 'What do you want?'

"Uh, Ziva," McGee stammered. "We need to go, now."

Ziva turned from McGee, grabbing her backpack from the hall and swinging it over her shoulder. "Has there been a break in the case," she asked, as she started to close her front door.

"Ziva, I'm bringing you to your appointment with Jenny." His tone was soft, but firm.

She froze. Set her backpack down. "Since when did it become your job to monitor my personal affairs?"

"Since missing this appointment means a possible suspension."

The look of pain that crossed her face surprised him. These days she seemed to be drowning in such sadness, he wanted to touch her, put his arms around her. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was.

But she only questioned him, taking a step back to lean against the doorframe. "Did Gibbs say this?"

"He doesn't know you missed it Ziva. Neither does Vance. I convinced Jenny – er, I mean Dr. Nicholas – to still see you this afternoon and not tell the boss that you didn't show."

She was silent, her eyes staring past McGee and at an invisible spot on the ceiling.

"Ziva, please. We need you on this team."

She sighed. She needed them, too, more than she would ever let on.

"Ok," she picked up her backpack again, brushing past him. "Let's go."

….

She stands just inside the closed door. "I am here."

Jenny checked her watch. "An hour and a half late. Glad you could make it."

Ziva is silent. Defensive.

The doctor leaned back in her arm chair, crossing her legs and gesturing to the seat across from her. "Why don't you have a seat, Ziva."

She walked a few steps closer. "Thank you, but I prefer to stand."

Jenny shrugs. "So tell me, how have you been feeling recently?"

"All right."

"No headaches, your appetite is all right? No flashbacks?"

"No, yes and no," she replied, answering all three questions at once.

"Ziva, I'm not here to be the bad guy. Yes, I will deliver a recommendation to Vance, but everything you say in here is confidential."

Ziva only looked at the woman. A double edged knife, she thought. Open up to the woman like you're supposed to, and get recommended for suspension. Don't open up, and meet the same fate.

The doctor spoke again, her voice softer, warm this time. "Frankly, Ziva, if you weren't having any of these symptoms I'd be worried."

Ziva cocked her head, ever so slightly to the side.

"When we first met after Somalia, you were shaken up, sure, but you weren't going through the normal stages that someone in such a situation would experience. While troubling, it didn't give a legitimate reason to force you to continue coming here."

"Did you forget that I am Mossad?" Ziva said, coldly. "We train for such situations."

"And what does that training do, specifically?"

"We are trained to deal with and process situations that most could not handle, could never recover from. Whether consequences of war or a random act of violence, we carry out the mission. Move on."

"Has there been a time where you've had difficulty moving on?"

"No," she was quick to reply.

Jenny nodded and made a small note.

"Tell me more about these symptoms you've been experiencing."

Ziva shot a challenging glare towards the doctor. "I never said I was experiencing…symptoms."

"You are a strong woman, no doubt, carrying out one dangerous mission after another, no matter the cost." Ziva pursed her lips at the doctor's words, trying to force an indifferent face as Jenny continued.

"I don't see why these sessions with me should be treated differently, when quite frankly, it's another step, a mission if you'd like, toward staying a NCIS agent."

Ziva was silent.

"I know how much NCIS means to you, Ziva."

After a few moments of silence had passed, she finally relented, sitting on the arm of the chair before speaking. "I _have_ been thinking about Somalia, yes. And I will admit that it has been difficult. I have not been taking care of myself as I should."

Jenny nodded, prompting Ziva to continue.

"But perhaps I need to allow myself to have these…. 'feelings' about what happened, and in the meantime make a conscious to eat and sleep and…." Ziva trailed off, watching Jenny's reaction. Hoping her words had, per usual, done the trick.

"Ziva, I appreciate you sharing this with me. But I do want you to understand that I know you well enough by now."

Ziva gave a questioning look, as Jenny continued. "I know your history, and I know what happened in Somalia as well as what happened today in the warehouse. You know all the right things to say in here, and I think I accepted too much of that the last time we met."

Ziva simply shrugged. It was true. She had played the doctor last time and had every intention of doing it again.

"Tell me about today."

Ziva finally slipped into the arm chair across from Jenny, perching herself stiffly on the edge. She looked at a painting on the wall, 10 inches to the right of Jenny's head.

She hated to do this. It made her feel so vulnerable, exposed, unable to protect against oncoming attacks.

Her heart thundered as she spoke.

"I went up to the room where Bayliss held me, and I was…confused. I didn't know where I was." She confessed this simply, showing the rare, vulnerable side of Ziva, who when she talked about her feelings, did so matter of factly.

"Where were you," prompted Jenny.

Ziva hesitated before replying, shrugging her shoulders lightly. "I do not know. It was like watching one of Tony's movies. I saw myself. I saw Saleem. Bayliss."

"And what did you see?"

"Bayliss tying me up. Saleem hitting me."

What else did you experience?"

Ziva thought for a moment. "In Somalia, I would often wear a burlap sack over my head for days, preventing sight. I could feel that sack, the way it would scratch my face and…"

She stopped, suddenly, aware at how much she was sharing. She sat up a little taller.

"Go on, Ziva."

She shook her head. "I just…I just could feel the sack."

Jenny nodded, understanding that Ziva was stopping herself from going deeper and allowing her, for the time being. "And now. How are you feeling, Ziva, after this flashback today?"

"I want it to stop."

Jenny looked up from the notes she was jotting, surprised.

Ziva's voice was rushed, forceful. "I have taken down five guards at once, have broken into some of the most secure facilities in the world. I do not understand, no, I can not allow…feelings to stand in the way of my place with NCIS."

"And that's what I'm going to help you with." Jenny checked her watch. "This is a very good start, Ziva. We're past time today, but I want to see you back here tomorrow."

Ziva pressed her lips together. She hadn't really thought that she'd be forced to come back, again. But it hadn't been that bad. And if she could learn tools – same as she learned how to pick a lock or take down an armed suspect – to stay with NCIS, then it was worth it, right?

….

Tony couldn't concentrate. Every time he heard the elevator ding, he watched in suspense as the doors slowly opened, hoping to see Ziva after her appointment.

He shook his head. _Concentrate DiNozzo, _he thought. The case. This is what we know.

Seven marines are dead. No apparent connection. Two killers, one dead. The other unknown with no solid leads. He had a hunch to go back and interview the six widowed wives, there was something about that mention of cheating earlier today that sounded so familiar.

He pushed on his Mighty Mouse stapler, a lone staple falling onto his desk, as the elevator, once again, slid open.

As Tony watched, Ziva made her way to the bullpen and sat slowly, carefully at her desk.

"How'd it go?"

She ignored him, her cheeks burning, heart racing.

"Ziva," he stated, soft and pleading this time.

"It was fine, Tony."

He couldn't stop watching her. Black circles lined her eyes, her hair, wild and curly. Her arm, so painfully small, and he could see the bones in her chest.

He made a show out of checking his watch and stretching. "I'll grab us dinner. Your pick."

Ziva shook her head as she stood up to retrieve documents from the printer. "I am going home, Tony."

"Oh, well in that case I could bring…."

"Goodnight, Tony." Ziva finished the conversation, picking up her backpack and documents and leaving without meeting Tony's eye.

_Next Time…_

"_Tony…" she leaned toward him, placing a hand on his chest. He turned to look at her. "Ziva this is the best part…"_

_She kissed him._

**PLEASE **give me a quick review. This chapter went in a completely different direction thanks to feedback from a reader - I really value and welcome your input, and it gives me motivation to write and post more!


	7. Chapter 7 Distracted

**Several of you posted really thoughtful comments – THANK YOU! I hope most of you can see some of what you liked and/or your suggestions in this next chapter.**

_Previously…After finding out that Ziva would likely be suspended after skipping her appointment with the department shrink, McGee steps up to the plate while Tony's with Gibbs and brings Ziva to her appointment. Ziva opens up slightly, and after finishing the session runs into Tony. He tries to get her to stay for dinner, but she declines. _

_This chapter takes place later in the day, where you'll see that Ziva has….reconsidered. _

Chapter 7

Today had been….rough, thought Ziva, as she balanced Chinese takeout in one hand and a stack of movies in another. She felt uneasy about opening up her seeping wounds to Dr. Nicholas. She felt uncertain about her future at NCIS, sure that she'd be yanked out of the field, fearing suspension.

And tonight she needed….well, she needed a distraction. She needed to escape the visions of a dark cell, the feel of fists on her body. She needed to connect with something that felt solid, safe, familiar.

And so she was here. Sliding through the building's well lit halls, she stopped when she reached his door. Lacking an extra hand to knock, she gave the door a few swift kicks before it swung open.

"Ziva!" Tony exclaimed, surprised to see her standing on his doorstep. Even more surprised to see a familiar smile, and if he wasn't imagining things, even a twinkle in her eye.

She held out the Chinese and movies. Solid, safe, familiar. It overwhelmed her and she spoke with a smile. "May I come in?"

He grinned, "That depends. What do ya have in mind?"

"Plenty," she grinned mischievously, pushing past him into the apartment. She emptied her hands, turning to him as she studied his apartment. "I'm not…interrupting anything, am I?"

"Just a little wine, a little Sinatra, and a little bit of victims four, five and six," he indicated toward the open files. "So nope, I much prefer this."

She gave a relaxed smile, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Good. I thought, perhaps….we could eat dinner…unless you did indeed eat at the office. Maybe watch a movie. I brought a few that I had lying around and…"

He had to hide his smile. Ziva in his apartment. Ziva eating. Ziva joking and rambling. "Only if I get to pick…let's see what you brought here," he said, going over to examine her movie selections. "You know, taste in movies really says a lot about a person's character."

"Hmmm…" she murmured, as she began flipping through the open case files. He reached over her and flipped them closed. "Let's forget about work for one night."

She held up her hands in a mock surrender. "All right, Tony."

He pretended to sift through the movies for a moment, watching her pull lo-mein, fried rice, a meat dish of some sort and soup out of the bag. He was having a hard time digesting Ziva's presence. What happened hours ago seemed like forever; Ziva having flashbacks, a panic attack. What was happening now seemed to reenact pre-Somalia days.

What was tonight? Why was she at his doorstep all smiles and flirtatious jokes? Was it an act? To convince him that she was all right? _No, _Tony thought. _This seems too genuine. And even if she is pretending, still hurting underneath, she's at least making an effort, eating, too. That has to count for something, right? _

He grabbed the movie – Pulp Fiction – and followed her with the food into the living room.

…..

Ziva turned toward Tony, seated next to her on the sofa, watching him watch the movie. Normally, she would twist his arm for adding sound effects and citing lines along with the characters. But today…today she was grateful for Tony's discretion. For allowing her to be, without treating her like splintering glass.

She watched as he softly mouthed the words along with Samuel L. Jackson, "You, flock of seagulls, you know why we're here? Why don't you tell my man Vincent where you got the shit hid at?"

She really needed tonight. For the past hour she had forgotten about everything. She felt human again. But now, her thoughts started to drift back to Somalia. She thought about the first time her clothes were torn off and she was violated. It had been by Saleem, but it certainly wasn't the last time he or his men raped her.

_NO! _Exploded in her head. _Stop thinking about it…._

"Tony…" she leaned toward him, placing a hand on his chest, angling for the one distraction that she was sure would overpower her memories of torture and rape. The one distraction that would prove that she was indeed, not broken. He turned to look at her. "Ziva this is the best part…"

She kissed him. Just like that. And he responded, slipping his tongue inside her mouth as a soft moan escaped her throat. She felt her insides heat and flutter, and she melted just a little as his thumb began to move in delicate circles on the back of her neck.

In a second she was on top of him, her legs straddling his hips, pressing against his hard on. _God, _she thought, _it feels so good to…feel. _Her hands ran up his stomach, underneath his shirt, just briefly before moving to his jeans.

She hadn't been with anyone since Somalia, and she needed to know that she could still…

…..

Tony moaned as she pressed her center against him, grabbing fistfuls of dark curly hair, wondering what she would look like and taste like down south.

As they continued to kiss, tongues darting in and out in a hurried, passionate dance, he felt her move to his belt buckle. Her pace quickened and she began to breathe harder, her fingers working quickly to undo his jeans.

"Tony," she began, "Do you have a…"

And then it hit him. This was going too fast, too far.

"Ziva, stop." He circled one hand around each of her tiny wrists, breaking their kiss. "We can't do this."

It was as if someone had slapped her. She struggled to break free of Tony, shamed to realize that she didn't have the strength.

"It's not that I don't want this. You know I do." He looked deep into her eyes, searching for what she was thinking, feeling. "We just can't do this…now. I'd be taking advantage of you."

She tried to kiss him, to stop his words, but he held her back. "I won't break, Tony."

Oh, how could he tell her? How could he say the words _Ziva, you are breaking. _He saw her shoulders slump in front of him, and somehow the dark circles and hollowed cheeks seemed more prominent, more painful.

She lowered her eyes. "It is fine Tony. Let me go." She tugged her wrists, still in his grasp and tried to shift her body off of him.

He held her still. His voice came low. "Ziva, stop running."

And she stopped. How intimate his voice, his touch, it scared her. Yet at the same time, she felt. Something other than pain, something better than what she had thought sex would do.

So still straddling him, she sat motionless on his lap. He released her arms, but cupped her face in his hand and ran a thumb over her lips.

"Talk to me, Z."

Her lips parted slightly, as if she was about to speak. But she stopped herself. The words seemed stuck in her throat; she was afraid they'd come out jumbled. Make her look weak and stupid.

So she slid off his lap, but stayed close, wanting to hold on to this intimacy that Tony offered; this closeness that surprisingly didn't involve sex. Leaning against him, she slowly lowered her face till it was touching his chest, placing one hand awkwardly on his hip.

He knew this was hard for her. If not opening up verbally, opening herself up emotionally. She felt stiff against him, as if she was prepared to flee or fight at any moment.

But he just let her…..be. He stroked her hair and gradually, he felt her relax, sinking into him. No longer on edge. They sat like this for awhile, the movie still playing in the background but neither paying attention, both deep in thought. Eventually Tony noticed that she hadn't eaten as much as she normally would. He leaned forward and she shifted with him, as he picked up the lo mein and chopsticks.

Her head still on his chest, she looked up at him as he caught a bunch of noodles and lowered them to her mouth.

"Here, Z," he whispered. "You need to eat more."

Her whole body pulsed as she opened her mouth, taking the noodles he fed her. Again, he brought another bite to her lips.

As she chewed, he felt her start to shift, and he feared that he had crossed the line, that she was uncomfortable or intimidated or leaving.

But she only sat up, curling her legs against him. Their eyes stayed locked as he continued to feed her, until she finally held her hand up, surrendering to fullness.

And she curled into him again, becoming more comfortable with the idea of being held, of trusting Tony's arms. As he continued to rub her back, stroke her hair, he wondered what tomorrow would bring. Would Ziva take care of herself, would she joke and flirt and function? Or would she once again panic, have flashbacks?

Honestly, Tony didn't know. And it scared him. But he knew right now that he held her; was holding her as tight as he could so that she wouldn't, couldn't fall. He knew that while he was feeding her, peace and trust radiated from her face. And he knew that he was in love with her.

And they continued to sit, together on the couch, one leaning on the other. The movie ended and the screen turned black, darkening the half lit room.

And they fell asleep.

….


	8. Chapter 8 Leads

**Hi all, sorry it's taken so long to post. I was a little discouraged/unmotivated to write because I didn't get a ton of replies. I see that there area lot of people clicking on this, but when only a few reply it makes me nervous that the majority of people aren't liking this. **

**To those who did reply, I hope you can see I'm taking a lot of your suggestions into account. And to the fabulous reader who suggested a Ziva/Abby chat...don't worry, it is coming up in the next few chapters :) **

_Previously…In need of a distraction, Ziva shows up at Tony's with Chinese and movies. She jokes, flirts, seems ok. While watching the movie, thoughts of her rape start to flood back, and she makes a move on Tony, thinking that sex can help erase the memories and show her that she isn't damaged. After a few minutes of heavy duty kissing, Tony stops, but shows her what true intimacy, a true connection feels like. _

Tony woke, sprawled across the couch, light streaming through the windows. He was alone.

"Ziva?" He called, shaking the sleep out of his eyes and stretching. Her purse was gone, TV off and Chinese cleaned up. _Hmmfff, _Tony thought, _I'm usually the one who leaves in the middle of the night. _

He flicked open her cell phone and called her. She answered on the first ring.

"Hello Tony."

"When'd you leave? I was hoping to wake up and see…"

"Tony…." She stopped him, pursing her lips as she drove with one hand. "I will see you at the office, ok?"

And just like that she hung up. Conversation over. Let's not make more of this than it is.

Stung, Tony replayed last night in his head. _What did I really expect? For her to call me sweet cheeks and say she misses me? For her to act all lovey dovey? Pre or post Somalia, that's just not Ziva._

…

She felt slightly bad as she hung up on Tony, taking another bite of her PowerBar. Sure, he had denied her advances last night. But then, he was so loving, so gentle, and she let herself give in. For once, she didn't have to carry the weight on her own. She didn't have to own control. She didn't have to fall; Tony had been there to hold her up, suppress the flashbacks.

But now, it was daylight. She felt awkward and uncomfortable for leaning on Tony. Ziva had seen, firsthand, that bad things happen when you lose control, when you are distracted by men or emotions, love or lust.

She wanted, no, she _needed_ to pretend like that night with Tony was nothing more than it was. One night. Just a one time thing, filling a need that had come and gone and was now satisfied, under control.

Ziva was used to such a relationship with men. Using them when convenient, whether on a mission or purely to satisfy her sex drive.

Was she using Tony, too?

_Stop thinking about him, _she willed, as she leaned into the mirror at a stoplight and applied a touch of mascara. A rare makeup application since returning to the States. The wand stopped grazing her eyelashes as she smiled to herself, the memory of Tony's lips, his hands stroking her.

_Who am I kidding? _She had wanted him so many times throughout the years, tempted to give in to her desire for raw, wild sex. But Ziva was trained to keep relationships professional. To never give into her emotions. Sure, she had faltered over the years. Dead man walking. Locke. Rivkin. But falling for Tony, allowing lust or love or whatever it was that she was feeling…

….that was dangerous territory.

….

Tony strode into the office, swallowing a hint of resentment as he saw Ziva and McGee huddled together.

"McGeek, what are you doing."

They looked up at him. He searched Ziva for a hint of something….a hint that she still felt last night, a hint that they shared a new connection, that she was no longer drowning. But she was…unreadable.

McGee's voice was rushed, flushed with excitement. "Tony, do you remember yesterday when we were talking about the seventh victim's wife, how he had cheated on her?"

"Following up on my lead, eh probie?"

Anger flashed through McGee's eyes, and he started to raise his voice until Ziva's light hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Yea, I was Tony." McGee took a few breaths, studying Tony's angry cockiness, as the senior agent leaned against his desk, arms crossed.

Ziva cut in, stopping the inevitable fight. "We searched back through our notes. Found that victim number two, he had also cheated on his wife."

Tony was silent. He felt angry, hurt, confused. The case, it was the last thing he wanted to think about right now.

McGee gave in to his excitement over the lead, trying to get a reaction, excitement from Tony, too. "We think there's something here, Tony."

"Something where?" asked Gibbs, as he strode into the room, plopping a large, hot coffee on his desk.

"Uh, boss," McGee said, standing up. "There seems to be a connection between victims seven and two – they both cheated on their wives."

"What about the rest."

Ziva, was standing no, too. "That's what we need to find out, Gibbs. Re-interview all the widows."

Gibbs nodded. "All right. Tony, McGee, you're with me."

And he picked up his coffee, heading toward the elevators with the boys in tow, before Ziva stepped in, blocking his exit.

"I should come to, no?"

He placed his hand on her shoulders, driving her out of his path and toward her desk. "You. You sit here. Don't move."

It clicked in her head. And she was outraged. "Desk duty, I will…."

"You will stay. Review the case files. Call if you have anything."

Still standing, she averted her eyes as the men strode out, avoiding the pity that she knew would radiate from McGee, and the longing, questioning look from Tony's stare.

….

They made non-committal chatter about the case. Tony driving, McGee in the passenger seat, an open laptop in his hands. Gibbs had taken two widows on his own, and Tony and McGee had just come from the widow of victim number one, who finally admitted rather shamefully and tearfully that yes, her marine husband had indeed cheated on her.

The men came to a lull in their conversation. It was beginning to look like their theory was right, but what was still unclear was how the killer not only knew these men, but knew they had cheated on their wives.

So McGee used the silence to bring up something a little more dangerous.

"How do you think Ziva is doing?"

Tony almost snorted. _So, McGeek, taking another opportunity to remind me that this is my fault, huh? _

But he kept his composure. "I saw her last night." _And I'm encouraged. Worried. Scared. She bounces back and forth between being ok and being downright sick and scary._

McGee shook his head. _Last night? _"Tony, I can't believe you'd take advantage of her during a time like this."

Tony's jaw clenched, He spoke through gritted teeth. "I. Didn't."

Silence fell between the two men, before Tony broke it with accusing words, spoken long and slow.

"You always think the worst of me, probie."

_And you don't trust me_, retorted McGee in his head, not daring to say the words that plagued him. _You went after Rivken on your own. I understand not telling Ziva, not telling Gibbs. But me? _

"You missed your turn, Tony."

…..

The anger in her chest was palpable. She wanted to hit something. She wanted to take her gun and empty a round into the nearest target.

_Desk duty? I am making a conscious effort to eat. Saw Dr. Nicholas. Reached out to Tony. What more can I do? _

The lack of control terrified her. Made her feel unpredictable. She wanted someone to hit her. Till there were no feelings left, nothing to try and suppress.

But it was 2:00. Time to meet Dr. Nicholas. Ziva sighed as she headed toward the elevators. The last thing she wanted to do was show Dr. Nicholas her uncontrollable feelings sparked by desk duty. If something as cut and dry as paperwork sparked such a reaction, Ziva wasn't sure if she could ever convince Dr. Nicholas that rape, torture and humiliation would stop producing nightmarish flashbacks.

Hell, she wasn't sure she could convince herself.

So Ziva strode, head held high, into Dr. Nicholas' office, perching once again on the edge of the armchair.

But the words from her mouth didn't match her confident exterior. They were low, accusing. "Desk duty?"

Jenny pursed her lips. "This is not permanent Ziva."

"Then what do I have to do?" The words exploded out of her mouth. "I ate breakfast this morning, I reached out to Tony. I'm coming here. What more do you want?"

"You reached out to Tony?"

Ziva stood, silently cursing her slip of tongue as she paced the room. "I did, but that is not the issue here. I am of no use…"

"Actually, Ziva, I'd like to explore this a little further. Tell me about what happened with Tony."

_I may have used him to try and replace memories of rape with wild, passionate, feel-good sex. I may have allowed myself to weaken, lean on him a bit too much. _

But instead she simply replied, "I rather would not." She returned to her perch on the armchair, leaning close to Dr. Nicholas, speaking with her hands. "Tell me, why, I am on desk duty."

Jenny's voice was once again warm, soft, drawing Ziva in. "We need to address some things first, Ziva. Your flashbacks, for one. We need to get them under control before it's safe for you to be back out there."

"So what do I do?" asked Ziva, as if there were a simple cure.

"There isn't a formula. It's coming here, talking about your feelings. Learning tools to cope with them. Making an effort to take care of yourself."

Ziva's breath started to quicken. She felt trapped. Broken. Unfixable. She counted slowly in her head, trying desperately to restore her breathing to normal.

"What are you thinking, Ziva?"

The first lie escaped her lips. "That I'd like to do this. That I'd like to let myself address Somalia."

Jenny's smile surpressed the doubts in her mind. Ziva was all too good at saying just the right things. "Good. Now, it sounds like you've started to make an effort to take care of yourself. Why don't you tell me a little bit about it."

Ziva relaxed. This was easy. Eating, sleeping, applying makeup. It was methodical. And to credit the doctor, it was extremely important if she ever wanted to be strong and kick some ass again.

So Ziva spent the next 30 minutes telling Jenny about her focus on eating, her desire to gain back weight, start working out again. The two laughed as Ziva reminisced about how good it would feel again to take Tony out.

And as Ziva left, to go grab lunch and a workout, she felt pleased. That she had given the doctor what she wanted without remembering Somalia or sharing the mess with Tony. That she was on her way to becoming strong again.

Becoming weak or unhealthy had never been her intention. But somehow, along the way, it had happened. And once she got strong again, she'd feel better, be better equipped to lock away her memories. She'd be back on Team Gibbs.


	9. Chapter 9 Coming to Light

**A/N: Thanks for the fabulous replies and feedback – much appreciated and means so much to me! **

_Previously…After Ziva leaves Tony in the middle of the night, it is clear that she wants to pretend like nothing ever happened. But internally, she is grappling with her feelings for Tony. Feeling unsure and weak for leaning on him, trying to push away her feelings and desire for him. Tony and McGee share an uncomfortable car ride while following up on a new, solid lead on the case, while Ziva, just learning she's on desk duty, sees Dr. Nicholas. During her appointment, Ziva reveals that she has recognized the importance of starting to take care of herself, something she is hoping will do the trick to get her back onto Team Gibbs. _

After finishing with the weights, Ziva slipped out of the gym for a quick run throughout the base. While she was clearly out of shape – both in terms of cardiovascular capacity and muscle strength – she felt good. Stronger.

It was warm out, and the sun felt soothing on her skin. It made her feel light inside – the exact opposite of how she felt in Saleem's darkened cell. She lifted her face to the sun as she ran, thinking back to today's appointment with Dr. Nicholas. She felt slightly bad for lying to the doctor – she was only trying to help, after all – by saying that she wanted to work on her feelings.

_But that is irrelevant, _Ziva thought, as she focused on keeping her breath – now coming short and uncomfortable – even.

Finally, she couldn't go anymore, and Ziva came to a halt, bent over, hands on her knees. It frustrated her that she couldn't knock out her usual 3-5 miles. She estimated that today she'd only log 2.

As her breathing slowed, Ziva stood up and checked her watch, knowing she had about 20 more minutes till the team came back from interviewing the rest of the widows. Wanting to shower and change so that no one would make a big deal out of her work out, Ziva mustered her last bit of strength and kicked into a slow and comfortable jog.

Her legs were heavy. Her lungs burned. And it felt….great.

She pushed harder, aiming to get in another half mile, and let her mind wander to the case. She though through the evidence and original interviews with each of the victim's friends and loved ones. _We've found the connection. But how did the killer find all these cheating men? _

And then it hit her. One of the earlier victims, his brother mentioned something about a support group. He thought it may have been for single, middle aged men, or maybe those recently separated. She remembered that interview clearly now – she and Gibbs had spoken with the brother.

And with that, Ziva pushed her pace into a fast sprint, back toward her desk and her notes.

…..

Tony, McGee and Gibbs trouped into the squad room, finally wrapping interviews with all widows. The connection was now 100 percent clear – the killer was targeting men who had cheated on their wives.

As the three men rounded the corner, they stopped upon reaching Ziva's desk. Her face was flushed. She was in workout clothes and a light sweat stain was apparent on the front of her shirt. A near-eaten PowerBar sat on her desk.

Ziva felt eyes on her and looked up to see the three men crowded around her desk. "How did it go?"

After Tony filled her in, she put on her best business as usual tone, masking her excitement and pride. "Have any of the people we questioned mentioned a support group"

McGee spoke as he walked back to his desk. "Yea, victim number four. One of his work buddies mentioned he was going to some kind of support group. Thought it had something to do with the divorce, but he wasn't really sure."

Ziva stood up. "Same with victim number one. He may be identifying victims through a support group, one for cheating men, perhaps."

Gibbs nodded. "Good, Ziva. Do a search for…"

She stopped him, flicking images onto the screen. "There are 20 support groups in the DC area that could be relevant. Some focus on men who cheat, some are for newly separated men, some are for sex addicts. Five are specific to marines."

Gibbs studied the screen as Tony and McGee gathered next to him.

"Tony, McGee, go check out the first three groups specific to marines."

Ziva's face fell. She had been hoping that this lead, this new discovery she brought to the team, would do something….

"Gibbs, I…."

"You did good, Ziva. Finish up here. Go home. Shower. Tomorrow, we'll talk." He gave her arm a squeeze as he walked past the group, heading up to MTAC to brief Vance.

Ziva sat angrily in her chair, though Tony had a feeling that the anger was mostly a show. He could see underneath her armor that she was elated at the prospect of being released from desk duty. Plus, she had that energy, adrenaline pulsing from her that had been absent post-Somalia.

"McGoo, go get the car. I'll meet you down there."

"Right." Came McGee's dry reply as he headed for the elevator.

Ziva looked up at Tony as he sauntered toward her desk. "What is it with you two?" She asked, feigning annoyance in a way that only Ziva could, a way that Tony loved. That he was glad to see again.

"Oh, McPMS? Don't know."

"Tony, you should really lighten up on…." Ziva scolded, before he shifted the conversation.

"So how does pasta sound?"

She crinkled her nose. "What?"

"You know, the long, stringy, carb-loaded goodness that people like to put marinara, pesto, or even Bolognese on? Sometimes it's short and hollow, or corkscrew like, or even…"

"I know what pasta is!" she insisted.

"Great, so should we say 7?"

"Tony," Ziva hissed, not sure why he expected last night to turn into a regular thing. "No."

"Come on, Z," his voice turned soft.

"What happened last night, it was a mi—"

He cut her off before the words could cross her lips. "What's the harm in two friends getting together for dinner? We can talk about the case, how to get rid of McMoody's attitude, who got voted off American Idol last night."

Ziva hesitated. She knew that she needed to keep her distance; keep her strength, her fight, her independence.

"Go, Tony. McGee is waiting."

His face fell. Eyes pleading.

The words crossed her lips before she could stop them. "I will call later. Let you know." And with that her eyes and head reverted back to the files scattered on the desk.

…

After briefing Vance, Gibbs made his way down to Dr. Nicholas' office.

"How is she, doc?" He sauntered into the room, standing before her desk.

"You know I can't discuss her sessions with you."

Gibbs moved closer, placing his hands firmly on her desk and leaning forward.

"That's not what I'm asking."

_Right. _Thought Dr. Nicholas, as she put her pen down and leaned back in her chair, a bemused smile on her face as she looked at Gibbs.

"You want to know whether to put Ziva back in the field."

Gibbs nodded his head. "Something like that."

"Frankly, Agent Gibbs, I don't know. She's stronger than most – usually able to suppress events such as what happened at the warehouse a few days ago." Spoke Jenny, mentioning Ziva's momentary breakdown.

"And because of that, I just don't know. I can't get a good read on her."

"She knows the right things to say." Agreed Gibbs.

Jenny smiled, almost sadly, nodding her head.

"Are you making progress in the sessions?"

"I can't answer that, Gibbs. I've said too much already."

Upon Gibbs' silence, the doctor continued. "I would say, Gibbs, go with your gut. If you think she can handle it, send her out. Maybe send her on interviews to start, avoid crime scenes because that seems to be a trigger for her."

….

The cool water slid down her tanned skin in rivets, washing away the sweat, the emotions of the day. She hummed a tune softly as she washed; an old Israeli nursery rhyme her mother used to sing. She and Ari had begged for the song each night as children.

She closed her eyes as water ran down her face, the back of her head, washing away a conditioner that smelled faintly of coconut. Her hair felt silky between her fingers, and actually…._everything seems a bit brighter _she thought with a smile.

She had stayed at the office later than planned. Had not called Tony to cancel dinner. _He will understand_, her thoughts continued, as she lathered shaving cream on her lower leg. The invitation from Tony had been tempting, sure, but by the time she got home she was exhausted. She didn't want to have to put on an act, force flirtatious banter and witty comments.

She felt no different than she had today – excited at the connection she discovered, flushed with adrenaline from her run. She still felt hopeful, determined, plotting her way back into the field.

But tonight she was simply tired and drained. A glimpse of weakness she couldn't let Tony see.

And so Ziva ran the razor up her legs, turning her thoughts to the frozen entrees she had in her freezer for dinner. She felt a slight sting as the razor nicked her, and entranced, she watched a stream of blood trickle down her calf and drip downwards, creating a spot of harsh red on the floor before washed away by the cool water.

She watched the blood continue to flow, and within seconds was taken back to the cell. She was naked from the waist up, her arms pinned above her head. Saleem crouched over her, creating light scratches on her concave stomach with his knife.

…

"McGee! You're just in time!" Abby greeted, as he entered her lab.

"In time for what?"

"Saving me from boredom!" She groaned, taking a long sip of her caf-pow and twirling round on her stool. "You guys haven't brought me new evidence in days. I have nothing to do but boring paperwork and back projects."

McGee pursed his lips and spoke dryly. "Yea, sorry about that."

Abby took in his response, his downfallen attitude. "Buuutttt…I heard you guys had a major break in the case, which is great because I don't want anymore marines to die, even if they did cheat on their wives. I mean they don't deserve to die, right, McGee?"

He was silent. "Helloooo, earth to McGee."

"Tony and Ziva got the break in the case." He glumly sat on the stool opposite Abby.

"Aw, McGee, but you guys are a team. You feed off each other, share your evidence that might help someone else formulate a new conclusion…"

"Abby…" McGee warned, not quite feeling her attempts at making him feel better.

"Oh, McGee," she gave her friend a hug, hating to see him so down.

"Can I ask you something, Abby?" Asked McGee once she released him.

"Of course!"

"Do you remember when Tony went after Rivken that night, without telling anyone where he was going or what he was doing."

"McGee," Abby breathed, not quite sure why this nightmare was being brought up again.

"Why do you think he did that?"

Abby gave him a half smile and shrugged. "I don't know. You'd have to ask him."

"Yea," he muttered sarcastically, knowing that such a conversation would likely result in disaster with Tony.

Abby took another long sip of caf-pow thoughtfully. "Why are you asking?"

"It's just so strange to think how that one night has completely changed everything that came after. Ziva in Somalia, the rescue, our ability to solve this case…"

A horrible thought crossed Abby's mind. Her words were laced with questions, accusations. "Do you blame Tony for what happened?"

He hesitated. "McGee!" Abby scolded. "Tony is on your team! And he was only trying to protect Ziva! He knew that Rivken was up to no good and that Ziva would never believe him…"

"Why didn't he loop me in?"

It dawned on Abby. _So that's what this is about, _she thought, pulling him into another hug.

"You need to talk to Tony." She whispered into his ear.

…

Her hands found the scars on her abdomen and as she felt the cold metal of Saleem's knife make the first cut. Ziva cried out and the razor dropped from her hands, sliding down the tub and halfway into the drain.

And then she lost her footing, and was transported back from Somalia to DC just as quickly as she slipped backwards and hit her head on the faucet.

When her eyes slowly opened, thanks to the now frigid water hitting her face, Ziva wasn't sure how long she had been out for. Her head was throbbing.

Pulling herself up, Ziva relied on the edges of the tub to help her to a standing position.

She turned off the water and grabbed a tan towel from the rack, wrapping herself in the warmth as she sat for a moment on closed toilet seat. She felt slightly confused, not able to remember why she was in the shower or what she had planned to do next. She tried to remember what time of day it was, whether she was supposed to go to bed or get ready for work.

And that's when she heard her doorbell ring, followed by an all too familiar voice. "Ziva! Let me in! I brought dinner!"

Tony.

**A/N: Just before posting I re-read this and just wanted to clarify something that may be confusing – Ziva didn't cut herself, was just holding the razor and then dropped it during the flashback about being hurt by Saleem. **


	10. Chapter 10 Connections

A/N: Hope you all enjoy this one! I got so carried away that I broke this into two parts, so that I can post the beginning now and the rest Tuesday or Wednesday (as soon as I finish it). I am hoping that the next part is going to rock and be so sweet and loving and revealing….working on it, anyway!

_Previously… Ziva is clearly starting to take care of herself in efforts to reclaim who she is and get off desk duty. And while her team is re-interviewing widows, Ziva discovers that the killer is identifying his victims through a support group. Gibbs won't let her check out the support groups, but mentions he'll consider sending her out the next day. _

_While Ziva heads home for the evening, disregarding Tony's invitation for dinner, Gibbs talks to Jenny about whether to put Ziva back in the field, and McGee and Abby have a heart to heart. Later, Ziva is plagued by another flashback, which causes her to slip and hit her head in the shower. _

Chapter 10

Tony's face was staring back at her, magnified through the door's peephole.

"Come on, Ziva! Let me in!"

She felt shaky and leaned against the door, the flashback replaying over and over in her mind. A knot was beginning to form where she had hit the back of her head, and her vision felt slightly blurry.

"I've got pasta and garlic bread and salad and my special homemade sauce…"

"Not tonight, Tony," she called back.

"My lock picking skills might not be as good as yours, but I'm pretty sure I can pick this one. It might take me 10 minutes, maybe 20, and I'll need to run down to my car to get the kit, but…"

The door swung open. She was wearing just a towel, hair dripping wet, and looked tired, worn, like she had taken 50 steps back from where she was today.

He wanted to ask her if she had a flashback, but he knew where those conversations usually ended up. So instead, he went with a different tactic. "This case is really stressing me out. I could use some company."

And she stepped back, allowing him in. Arms full of food, he crossed the threshold and began laying out dishes as she watched. He thought about cracking a joke, something about the fact that she was only wearing a towel. But again, as he was realizing, not really appropriate right now.

"I'll go get changed," she said quietly, leaving the room.

…

They sat at the table in silence, Ziva pushing food with her fork. Plate full. "The food is great," Ziva started, attempting a cool, casual tone when she caught him looking at her. "I just, I am not very hungry." She finished, setting her fork down on her plate.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked at him flatly, knowing very well where he was trying to direct the conversation. _Why does everything have to be turned into something, _she thought. _Must I always uphold an endless dialogue of flirtation with Tony? Can I just be tired or have a headache and not have it turn into more than it is? _

Because frankly, she really was just tired and nauseous and longing for her bed. Yes, she had a flashback, one that seemed to tear her apart as it was happening, but to her surprise, it didn't leave her feeling as shaky as they normally did.

And then it hit her – she felt vomit begin to rise from her throat, and she pushed back from the table and sprinted toward the bathroom.

"Uh, Ziva," Tony said confused, following her only to be greeted by a locked door and the sound of her retching. "I know my cooking isn't great, but I didn't know it was that bad."

Ziva tuned out his rambling as she lay her forehead on the cool tile floor. Her insides hurt. Her head hurt. She wanted to bury under the covers and fall asleep, but she could not. She had Tony at her door, had an act to uphold, something to prove.

So once more that evening, she pulled herself from the floor, sitting on the toilet as she brushed her teeth, gripping the counter as she splashed water on her face.

She opened the door and hit Tony lightly in the nose, as he had been trying to jimmy the lock. "Ow!' He exclaimed, bringing a hand to a nose and making a show out of checking for signs of blood.

"Hmmm," she forcefully teased. "Perhaps you wouldn't have been able to break into my apartment, after all."

He narrowed his eyes at her, recognizing the armored jokes, but simply followed her back to the table as she began to clear the plates.

His brain racked for a good topic, fearful that she'd ask him to leave at any moment, and dreading the conversation where he'd have to refuse. _Something is wrong with her._

"So, that was a good lead you discovered on the case today."

She stopped rinsing her plate and looked at him funny. "Lead?" she asked, as if he had just sprung some American terminology at her that she had yet to encounter.

He gave her a confused, worried stare. "The support group, Ziva?"

She set the plate down, turning her back to him to grab yet some more ibuprofen from the counter. "It's been a long day, Tony, thank you for coming over but…."

And then he was behind her, turning her around, hands on her shoulders.

"What's going on, Ziva. You're confused, dazed, throwing up and I've seen you rubbing the back of your head all night."

She weighed the options in her head. Stay silent and let Tony think her incapable, weak, or tell him she hit her head. She opted for the latter.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I knocked up my head earlier."

_God, Ziva. _Tony thought, astounded at how nonchalant she was. Whether a concussion, torture, crippling flashbacks or god knows what else, Ziva simply would not, would never, stop acting like none of it was a big deal.

So his words were dry. "It's banged up. And you probably have a concussion."

"It is fine, Tony." She slipped from his grasp, returning to the plates she was drying.

"So I assume you won't let me take you to the hospital." She tensed at his tone.

"Not needed."

"Great." Was his only reply, as he headed toward the bathroom, locking himself in. He flipped open his cell, hitting number five on his speed dial.

"Ducky, it's Tony."

"Well, hello, Anthony," the coroner greeted him.

"Listen, I'm sorry to call you so late at night, but I have a…..well, a personal question."

"And what is that, dear boy?"

"I'm with a friend, who I think might have a concussion," started Tony, being careful to remain gender neutral. "Headache. Confusion. Nasuea."

"And did this…friend….hit his or her head?"

"Yes, but refuses to go to the hospital."

"I see," replied Ducky. "That sounds like someone we both know."

Tony felt his cheeks burn. "What do I do?"

"Watch her, Anthony. She really should go to a hospital, but if she refuses, make sure she stays up for several hours, and then you'll need to wake her every hour thereafter."

….

Ziva was cursing herself as she slipped the slick plates into the dishwasher. _Why did I open the door? DiNozo would never have been able to pick MY lock. _

_And now, I don't just have to worry about proving to Dr. Nicholas, to Gibbs, that I can go back in the field, but I've got Tony back on my case. Again. _

"All right, David." Tony entered the room. "Here's the deal. If you don't give a damn whether you go to sleep and never wake back up, think about me."

She looked at him blankly. He wasn't really sure what kind of reaction he was hoping for. _Does she care about me, after…after Rivken? Would she care if she fell asleep and never woke up…is she still prepared to die? _

So he continued. "If I go home I'm going to be worried all night about you," he added a bit of dramatic flair to his voice to lighten the mood, "And if something happens I will have to live with the guilt forever."

"Nothing is going to happen."

"Great, so we can have an enjoyable evening."

She pursed her lips as she considered. He was relentless. "All right, Tony. One condition."

"I'm listening."

"Do not tell Gibbs."

"Done." Agreed DiNozo, thinking that Ducky would likely take care of it for him. "So Ducky said that you need to stay awake for several hours, and then…."

Ziva exploded, coming to stand before him and jabbing her finger in his face. "Ducky?"

"Oh, yea," Tony replied, sheepishly. "I may have called him to see what I was supposed to do here…."

She turned on her heel away from him, and pushed the dishwasher rack in with such force that dishes rattled and Tony heard the sound of breaking glass.

"Um ok. So…"

Ziva cut him off, not wanting him to repeat the instructions she was supposed to follow. Not wanting to be told what to do. She spoke through clenched teeth. "It's still pretty early. Movie. Board game?"

_I see what you are doing, David. Taking the initiative so that I don't get to order you around. _

"Game? What've you got?"

Ziva racked her brain. She didn't play games, but McGee did give her one for her birthday last year…

She returned from the hall closet with an unopened Monopoly in her hands, holding it out to Tony for his approval.

"All right, David, but I have to warn you. I _always _get Park Place and the Boardwalk."

"The what?" She crinkled her face, completely confused as to what Tony was talking about.

He rolled his eyes playfully. "Of course you've never played Monopoly before. I don't suppose they have a Mossad version where you buy assassins instead of property and land on mines?"

She narrowed her eyes at him and threw the heavy box into his unsuspecting arms.

For the next hour, he taught her all the rules. They played competitively, both getting into the game, and Ziva threatening physical pain each time she landed on one of Tony's many monopolies. The tension that had surfaced over Ziva trying to hide her injury, or 'weakness' as she liked to think of it had dissipated.

Tony…well, he was thrilled to see Ziva laughing and enjoying herself. When he had first walked through her door this evening his heart broke a little bit. Today she had seemed so much better than she had in weeks past, but then her appearance this evening had once again caused his own flashbacks of operation Rescue Ziva.

But maybe it was just the concussion. Maybe she was just tired from a long day. Because whatever it was that had greeted him at the door was starting to melt and he loved the familiar Ziva that appeared underneath. So much so that he took her outrage at losing the game in stride.

So when it became clear that Ziva, down to her last ten dollars, was going to lose, she leaned back in her chair and looked at Tony.

He looked up from counting his money. "If you ask nicely maybe I'll give you some." He offered a twenty.

She flicked the colored money from his fingertips. "What's going on with you and McGee?"

Tony chuckled, his own armored defense mechanism. "No idea what's going on with the little probie."

Ziva leaned her elbows on the table. "I am not buying that_."_

"I don't really want to get into it Ziva," He said, sorting the play money as he put it away.

She gave him a teasing smile. "Come on, Tony. It will make you feel better, no?"

He sighed. "Do you really want to get into this Ziva?" His voice was serious.

"It's about Somalia, Rivken."

Her face fell.

_Chapter 10 to be continued in the next day or two…_


	11. Chapter 10 Cont

Chapter 10 continued….

_Previously…_

"_I don't really want to get into it Ziva," He said, sorting the play money as he put it away. _

_She gave him a teasing smile. "Come on, Tony. It will make you feel better, no?"_

_He sighed. "Do you really want to get into this Ziva?" His voice was serious. _

"_It's about Somalia, Rivken." _

_Her face fell. _

_..._

Ziva felt heat flood through her body. "Why?"

"He blames me, ok?"

"Blames you for what?"

Head down, his eyes looked up, met Ziva's. "For everything that happened to you."

She spoke fiercely. "It had _nothing _to do with you, or Gibbs or McGee for that matter. It was my decision to stay in Tel Aviv. My decision to accept the mission. To finish it."

He looked so broken, right then, that Ziva thought he might cry. She reached across the table and took his hands in hers. "Do you understand me, Tony?"

He didn't, couldn't. Even though she was safe, sitting here with him now, she had come _thatclose_ to dying. Had come _thatclose_ to killing him.

He _had_ killed Rivken.

_Something _had to be his fault.

He argued, his voice aggressive, forceful. "I started it Ziva. Killing Rivken led to every decision – each and every one – that brought you to Somalia."

"Tony. No." She hesitated, unsure as to how else to explain. She thought back to Somalia, the time she had to think, the hours and hours she conversed with Tony in her head, putting to rest…everything.

And now, she couldn't remember the words she had so carefully crafted. So with a deep breath, she spoke from the only place that suddenly, after all this time, seemed natural.

Her voice carried an openness, a vulnerability that Tony had not heard – not once, cross her lips.

"You were right to not trust Michael," She inhaled sharply – the name still sent a searing pain through her. "I, I was blind. I could not see that he was using me."

"But you were in love." Silence fell upon them for a moment, before Ziva spoke, repeating a simple rule leftover from her days with Mossad.

"And that is why you do not fall in love, Tony."

He grimaced. _It is probably too late for that, my dear Ziva. _

But how do you tell someone you love them? _Like this._

"I was worried, about you. I wasn't thinking when I went there that night, when I started going at it with Rivken. I was only thinking about…"

"Shhh.." Ziva placed a finger on his lips. "You do not need to explain, Tony."

But he did. He needed to explain why he did what he did. Why the thought of her held in Somalia – the fact that one small, tiny action on his part may have led her there – was tearing him in half.

And he desperately needed her to understand the one thing, the three little words that for right now, were too dangerous to say.

"I should have called for backup. But I was mad, Ziva. I was mad that you were in love with him." _And not with me._

She squeezed his hand in hers, running her thumb over the smooth, knuckled back. A soft joke escaped her lips, uncomfortable and unsure of how to take the underlying meaning that, as his partner, she could read as easily as Hebrew, French.

"So you _were _jealous." _He loves me. _

He shrugged, and Ziva again searched for the right words, the ones that like Tony's, would convey more than she knew how to say.

"I, too, am sorry. For doubting your actions, your reasons."

Silence fell between them, as they sat, hands clasped, unsure of where to go from there.

He wanted to ask her, he needed to know…. _Do you forgive me for killing the man that you loved? Were you really, truly mad when you saw me in Somalia, sitting across from you in the cell? _

_Do you love me, too? _

And then Ziva yawned.

"Why don't we get some sleep?" He suggested, pulling his hand from hers, snapping the lid shut on the Monopoly box.

And just like that, they reverted back from sharing and exposing themselves to Tony and Ziva, masters at emotional armor.

She laughed carefully, testing the waters with a little flirtatious banter. "We, huh? Where exactly do you think you are sleeping?"

"The couch." He answered simply.

She nodded, getting that something between them might have changed when she couldn't reciprocate Tony's masked confession, and headed toward the hall closet for pillows and a blanket.

"Oh, and David? I'm going to be waking you up every hour."

He winked at her deviously, in a typical sex-on-the-brain, Tony fashion. Her heart lifted. _Some things, they can never change. _

She flashed a flirtatious, come hither smile. "I'll be looking forward to it, Tony."

He gulped, fairly certain that at some point during the night, a gun in the face or punch to the chest would be greeting him.

….

It was around 1:30 a.m. when Tony crept into Ziva's room, waking her for the first time that night.

He stood for a moment, watching her sleep. "You don't look so tough," he lovingly whispered, watching the way her mouth parted slightly, the rise and fall of her chest underneath the crisp, cool sheets.

And then a snore escaped her and in response he tickled her ear. She sat up quickly, a gun pulled from under her pillow and pressed close to his face.

"Happy 1:30 a.m. to you, too, sweet cheeks." Tony dryly greeted as Ziva lowered the gun.

"You should know better, Tony."

_Apparently, I should have known better for a lot of things. _

But he simply replied, "Yea, I should."

Ziva saw the pain that flashed across his face. She thought their talk had done something to connect them, to make things right, but out of anyone, she should know, that such deep pain isn't erased instantly. That such a connection, no matter how strong, isn't activated overnight.

"Tony, stay." She moved over and patted the space beside her.

"Wait…what is this? Ex-Mossad Officer Ziva David is inviting _me _into her bed?"

She punched him. "Ow," Tony exclaimed, "What was that for?"

She smiled. "Get into bed, DiNozzo."

"Yes Ma'm," He crawled underneath the covers.

While she kept distance between them, she reached out a hand and began stroking his hair, the side of his face. He was good, very good, in fact, at masking his true feelings through flirting, jokes and movie references. And though Ziva wanted him to talk again, about Somalia or Rivken or anything, regardless of what it did to her, she quite simply, didn't know how to bring it up.

She ran her fingers through his hair, feeling how it spiked underneath her palm. She traced a finger along his lips, feeling the curves, the ridges, her eyes exploring his.

"Tony, what I said before, about none of this being your fault. I meant it."

He looked over at her and grasped the hand that had been stroking his face in his own.

"I know."

Their faces, pressed into pillows, were inches apart on the bed.

"Tony,"

"Yea, Z?"

"Thank you." And those two little words, right there, spoke volumes. _Thank you for coming to get me, for risking your life. Thank you for being there for me after, for being patient and kind and tough and loving. And thank you, for being here now, for showing me your pain and letting me, for once, hold you up. _

As those unspoken words exchanged between them, and Tony's eyes glistened with understanding, Ziva knew, without a doubt, that she loved him.

And once more that night she was able to speak from a place that for so long had been walled off, starved.

"Tony," Ziva's voice came softly, in a whisper, so that Tony had to lean even closer to hear. "When I saw you, that night in my apartment. In that darkened cell. I was…"

She stopped for a moment. Taking her time with the words. Feeling the weight of his hand in hers.

"Tony, I was worried, as well."

And that's when he knew. She loved him, too.

….

**Per usual, feedback is welcomed and appreciated! **


	12. Chapter 11

**Hi all, sorry for the delay here! It's been a busy week and I've been a little burnt out on this story. Anyway, hope you like it – I'm really excited about the next chapter! **

**And, as I've started to do, anyone who replies (with some kind of feedback good or bad) gets a 24 hour advance on a large portion of the next chapter. I know I still owe a lot of you the advance on my newest short Love is…..I'm still working on it and hope to send out this weekend.  
**

…

_Previously…wanting to spend more time with Ziva, Tony shows up at her place with dinner. She's clearly been taking care of herself and doing much better. But to his surprise, he finds that Ziva is dazed, confused and throwing up, which he soon learns is from a likely concussion. Not surprisingly, Ziva refuses to go to the hospital, so Tony insists on staying with her. The two play board games and have a touching heart to heart, both sleeping in the same bed. _

_This chapter is set the next morning. _

Chapter 11

The three looked up as Gibbs entered the bullpen. "Ziva, DiNozo, go check out the last two marine support groups."

Ziva's heart leapt in her chest as she nearly choked on the last of her toast with peanut butter. _It had worked. _

As Ziva and Tony picked up their gear, grabbing their guns from top drawers, they suddenly stopped. Gibbs was holding up one finger – a silent command that they obeyed with the ease of a trained and well-schooled animal – as he answered his ringing phone.

"Change of plans," he barked, closing the flip device. "Victim number eight. McGee, DiNozo, you're with me."

"Gibbs, I…"

She stopped as she read the look on her face. _Do I really need to remind you what happened at the last crime scene, Ziva?_

No, she did not need a reminder. And she did not need to give Tony and McGee another reason to think about it, either.

She leaned against her desk, arms crossed, indignant, watching the three men walk out. Tony gave her a solemn, 'I'm sorry' look and she raised her eyebrows.

_Do not pity me. _

Once the three men were gone, she sank into her desk chair, knowing she had a good two hours till Gibbs or McGee would text her information to research – the name of the dead marine from the fingerprint scanner, or the serial number for a weapon left behind, perhaps, if they were lucky.

Ziva sighed. If it weren't for last night, with _him, _and the fact that there was no shrink appointment this afternoon, she wasn't sure she'd be able to handle sitting her, idle, useless. She smiled a little as she remembered the feel of Tony's hand in hers.

And she let herself sit there for a minute, like a lovestruck teenager, before heading down to the gym for a workout.

….

Tony wasn't quite sure how he and McGee ended up riding together, but for some reason, he was driving the evidence van with McGee passenger, while Gibbs took the blue sedan to the scene.

The tension in the car was thick, suffocating, and Tony would've rather been in the back of Ducky's truck with the corpse.

McGee broke the silence first. "So Ziva, she's looking good."

"Yep," came Tony's short reply, not quite sure where the junior agent was going with the conversation. Another opportunity to blame Tony, perhaps?

McGee hesitated. "I'm glad, Tony. I was really worried about her."

He glanced at the junior agent. "We all were."

Tony continued to drive in silence, finally throwing the young agent and his trying attempts a bone. "I'm still worried."

McGee wasn't oblivious to the mixed emotions that crossed Tony's face. Guilt. Sorrow. Helplessness.

And all of a sudden he felt like a jerk. _Tony clearly feels bad enough. Did I really need to be reminding him every five seconds that if it weren't for him, Ziva probably would have never been in Somalia?_

"Tony," McGee started. "Look, I'm really…"

He was cut off as Tony stomped on the breaks, throwing the junior agent forward.

"We're here." Came Tony's curt reply, as he swung open the door and hopped out.

…..

Ziva sighed as she sent the last of her research to McGee – background information on the dead marine. She'd have nothing to do until they came back with more evidence, and considering they were still on their way to the marine's house…Well, it would be quite awhile.

She could catch up on paperwork…..or, go down to see Abby, see if she had any intel on Tony and McGee. Maybe see if they could hatch a plan to get the two agents talking.

She smiled as the idea – a mission with purpose – entered her mind, lightly jumping up from her desk and trotting to the elevator bay.

"Abby," She said, as she entered the brightly lit lab.

"Ziva," Abby lightly scolded. "I just got the crime scene evidence like 15 minutes ago. I'm good, but not that good."

"Relax, Abby." Ziva walked closer to the table, examining the tubes of liquids and laid out clothes on Abby's workspace. "I just came down to…talk."

"Oh." Abby gave Ziva a questioning, yet pleased look. _Ziva talk? _

The forensic scientist pushed one of the tall, rolling stools toward her teammate.

"Caf-pow?" Abby offered, holding out the large, sweating drink toward Ziva.

Ziva smiled, shook her head, pushing the stool underneath the table. She opted to stand, instead, leaning her elbows on a free piece of the metal table.

"What do you think is going on with Tony and McGee?"

Abby grimaced. "That, Ziva, I don't know."

Ziva thought back to her conversation with Tony last night. Abby read her face.

"Has Tony said anything to you?" She prompted.

Ziva hesitated. He had said what he did in confidence, she knew that, but she also did not want to lie to Abby. "A little, but I can not…you know."

Abby nodded.

"McGee say anything to you?"

Abby nodded.

Ziva understood. Same sense of confidence.

Abby frowned, setting down the test tube and eye dropper she had been working with. "Ziva, what is happening to this team? You and Tony and McGee used to be the unstoppable trio lead by the fearless Gibbs, but now you…"

She stopped herself from bringing up everything Ziva had been dealing with lately, hesitating a moment before continuing.

"But now Tony and McGee, they can barely be in the same room." She lowered her voice. "I don't think Gibbs is going to take much more of this."

Ziva stared down at the table. _Team Gibbs could be completely done. For good this time. _

"We've _got_ to get them talking," Abby continued.

"They have been talking, Abby. Or more like yelling and insulting one another."

"What if we lock them in an interrogation room?" Abby's voice began to rush with excitement. "And don't let them out until they make up and…"

"Abby, they will probably kill each other."

Abby wrinkled her face and turned back to the torn victim's clothes. "Right."

"What if we just sit them down?" Ziva suggested.

Abby looked up from the evidence, her curiosity sparked. "Go on."

Ziva moved her hands as she talked. "We ask them each to explain their feelings. I think they will see that this is largely a case of hurt ego, insecurity and miscommunication."

"Agent David," Abby's voice once again filled with excitement. "I like this plan."

With a big smile, she held out her slick, sweaty caf-pow as a reward offering.

….

Tony was fuming as he moved about the large living room, sorting through files and drawers and bookcases. He knew McGee was in the same room, likely puttering around as usual, but Tony tried his best not to look.

He didn't know why McGee's attempt at an apology – yes, Tony knew exactly what the agent was trying to do – bothered him, but it did.

Tony wasn't exactly innocent – he had been extra harsh on the junior agent lately, upping the name calling – McMoody, McGoo, McPMS – and making some pretty out of line jokes. But McGee, he was the one who took every chance to blame Tony for Somalia.

He didn't know why McGee had turned on him however many months ago. But he did.

And all of a sudden, McGee was at it again.

"Tony, about earlier, listen, I wanted to say…"

"Save it, McTeardrop." Bit back Tony.

Confusion crossed McGee's face. "Tony, would you let me finish?"

"I don't really want to hear it. Blame me all you want for killing Rivken, driving away Ziva, breaking up the team. Go ahead, do it. But save it for someone who cares, because I'm pretty sick of your pathetic voice."

McGee stood there, clenching his fists. Anger heating his veins. Tony could sometimes be…so stubborn. Unforgiving.

"And you know what? Why don't you take a good hard look at yourself. At least _I _was trying to help Ziva. At least I cared enough to look into Rivken; I had the smarts to sense that something was wrong."

McGee had enough. His chest heaved and the worry that had lined his gut, his heart these past few months, suddenly snapped.

He rushed at Tony, knocking them both to the ground. "WHY DIDN'T YOU CONFIDE IN ME?"

He threw a punch that Tony blocked. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TRUST ME? I COULD HAVE HELPED, TONY."

The men wrestled, rolled, blocked punches. Each trying to pin the other.

Walking into the living room, Gibbs only had to hear a few words - Rivkin and 'drove her away,' – and see his two agents going at it, to gather what was going on.

"What the hell are you doing," boomed Gibbs, doing little to stop the fight. "HEY!"

"This is a crime scene," He growled, grabbing DiNozo by the shirt and yanking him off McGee.

"Outside. Now."

…

Back in Abby's Lab

For the past hour, Ziva had kept Abby company as she ran various pieces of evidence – blood samples, tire tracks, bullet fragments – through databases.

The forensic scientist twirled in her seat as she waited for AFIS to find a match to an unknown blood sample. It hadn't matched the victim and Abby was crossing her fingers that it would finally give them a lead on the killer.

She looked over at Ziva. The agent was deep in thought about…well, Abby was pretty sure she knew what her troubled friend was thinking about.

"Hey Ziva," Abby started, causing the other woman to look up. "How are you, you know, doing?" The tone in her voice clearly indicated she was talking about something much deeper than a standard, friendly inquiry.

Ziva's back straightened and stiffened. "I am fine, Abby."

Abby pursed her lips and gave a dry smile. _Right. _

"You know, if you ever want to talk, you can come to me."

Ziva bowed her head. "Thank you, Abby."

And then she opened her mouth to speak, hesitating. There was so much she wanted to say, thought maybe she could really confide in Abby. But the words stopped just before they reached her voicebox.

_Will I ever get back on the team? Tony. What am I even doing with him? Flashbacks…_

And just then her cell phone rang.

McGee. Breathless. "Ziva, I need you to run…"

…..

It started again that night.

One minute she was counting down the minutes till she fell asleep, and the next she was again victim to Saleem's hands and torture techniques.

Her heart raced. Sweat broke out on her face, rolled down her back. And when it was over, she rolled out of bed, gripped walls and tables and furniture to help guide her shaking legs to the kitchen for a glass of water.

And then it hit her again. Suddenly. Fierce.

Her legs gave way and she sunk to a floor that was suddenly dirty, dark dingy.

She was no longer present in DC.

Ziva rocked for what seemed like hours. She heard movement outside the door and tensed each time. Knowing that at any minute Saleem or one of his men would come.

Trapped in that cell in Somalia.

She waited.

Until the beating came.

…

_The next day…._

Ziva felt physically sick, sitting at her desk.

_I thought the flashbacks were getting easier…._

After she came out of the second flashback, she had queued up Tony's number three times, closing the phone before she could hit the send button.

She thought about calling Abby, too.

But again, couldn't.

And speaking of Tony, Ziva looked up as he entered the bullpen, fresh out of the shower from this morning's workout.

He had a bruise on his cheek. Neither of the agents would say anything, but Ziva gathered from what she did see between the three men that Tony and McGee had gone at it.

She remembered clearly her conversation with Tony the other night, where he confided in her about McGee. It made her sick. _She_ was clearly driving this whole team apart.

Tony stopped in front of her desk, backpack over one shoulder. It was beginning to feel like a roller coaster with Ziva, he thought. One afternoon she seemed fine, one night she was starting to open up to him, physically and emotionally, and then the next time you turned around she was a complete wreck.

He made a mental note to talk to Dr. Nicholas. He wanted to know why Ziva had so many ups and downs. He wanted to know what he could do to pull her out of this.

And he wanted more alone time with her.

Ziva jumped to her feet as Gibbs strode into the room, following him to his desk. "Gibbs, I thought I'd go check out the last two support groups this morning. Take McGee."

Tony felt like someone had slapped him. While they hadn't spent a lot of time together yesterday, who was he kidding? What was he hoping would happen, that the previous night would change? _This is Ziva we're talking about…_

Gibbs raised his head from his seated position, looking up into Ziva's face. She looked like…hell. Dark circles framed her eyes, shadows haunted her pale face, and her lips were pursed.

He trusted his gut. "Not today, Ziva."

She wanted to scream at him. She flexed her fingers in and out of tight fists, trying to relieve the tension, anger that coursed through her body. _What more can I do? _

She kept his gaze as the thoughts flooded over her, McGee and Tony exchanging nervous, wondering glances, for once not finding anything to bicker about.

_I. Give. Up. _

"I am of no use on desk duty. But I understand, if you do not want me, in the field." And with that she unclipped her badge, and placed it with a thud on Agent Gibbs' desk.

Gibbs had enough. Of everything. He picked up the badge and pressed it into Ziva's hands. "You had better be damn sure about that, Agent David."

"And you," he turned toward Tony and McGee. He had scolded his agents yesterday – both verbally and through his signature head slap. But he was still pissed. "You two had better get your acts straight. Otherwise I _will_ take your badges, and ya _won't_ get them back."

He looked around the room, sizing up his team. McGee gulped.

"Gym. Three minutes." And with that he left the bullpen, leaving a stunned Ziva, McGee and DiNozzo in his wake.

_Next Time…_

_And with one swift move Tony had Ziva on her back. Laying over her, he looked into her eyes. Today, they'd be dead save for the flash of fear he saw. _

_"Get off me, Tony," she whispered, placing a small, cold hand on his muscled upper arm. She averted his gaze, ashamed at how easily she had let him take her. If he was able to beat her, he was usually sweating and grunting and completely spent. He hadn't even broken a sweat. _

_She didn't know what Gibbs was trying to prove. That he should have accepted her badge? _

**Don't forget to leave a reply to get your advance on the next chapter! **


End file.
